The Quarter Quell
by Amiee.P
Summary: Six years, the Capitol's prisoner. A fighter, bought up in seven arena's. This is her last battle. An alternate third quarter quell, the same conditions as in canon but with a slight twist. Rated M just to be safe. OC's viewpoint.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings, this story actually wasn't supposed to be posted here... But it's here for now. When I can upload it on the account I made for it then I might post it there... I don't really know. It's all to do with emails and that wonderful business. Aaanyway, welcome! This is an idea that wouldn't leave my head, so it became fanfiction... Sorry about that. **

**Enjoy!**

My father and I are in the mines of district twelve. I am shouting for him to run, to get out. To safety. But he ignores me and continues to hammer his chisel into the solid rock. I am screaming. Screaming his name, pointing to the way out, grabbing his arm and pulling him to safety. And he comes. But quickly I lose my grip on his arm and he falls, and everything blackens, silence closes in on me and I am screaming.

I sit, bolt upright in the comfortable bed in the training centre. The linen is soaked with sweat from yet another nightmare about my father's death in the mines. I grunt, angrily. I am angry at myself for having these dreams. They do nothing to help. They just make me even more tired than I was the previous day, and being the capitol's prisoner requires every ounce of energy I have.

I go to the window and judge from the light, and the giant clock on the side of a sky-high concrete building, that it has just passed one thirty in the morning. Grumbling, I stumble across my room and step into the shower after throwing my damp nightclothes down a hatch that I, long ago, assumed was for dirty clothes. Pulling my hair out of the ruined ponytail it had been in for my sleep, I slam my fist against a few of the buttons and breathe a sigh of relief followed by a muffled squeal due to a gentle flow of warm water followed by sharp spurts of ice cold. Once I have regained control of the shower I wash my hair and body then sit on the floor, under the running water.

I am spooked, I know that. I always am after dreams about my father's death. Not that I was even there for the event. I had been snapped up by the capitol a year beforehand and the news was delivered to me via Avox. An old, bald man, who had pissed off the capitol and so had had his tongue cut, brought me breakfast in bed along with a letter from my Mother detailing the horror that had befallen district twelve. I remember the look on his face, one of sincere pity and sorrow. He had known my father, known me even. Back when I was free- well, not free, no-one's free in Panem. But as free as you could get. He had run the sweetshop in the district, but he was caught badmouthing President Snow whilst some of the especially ruthless peacekeepers were on a stroll and was beaten up on the spot and taken away.

I cried alot that day. After I re-read the letter and it sunk in that not only my father, but Gale – my good friend had lost his father too, along with many other families, children, wives, mothers and fathers, I did exactly what I am doing now. I locked my bedroom door and sat on the shower floor whilst the warm jets beat down on me, strangely massaging my skin and soothing me. And then I cried. I can't remember how long I had cried for that day but I remember feeling so empty afterwards that all I wanted to do was eat and sleep. I chose sleep because there was a certain amount of effort involved in deciding what to eat and then asking for it.

That was the first time I dreamt about life back in district twelve, and six years later, now aged eighteen, I am still having them.

When I stand up I turn the water off, dry myself – my air dryers broke months ago, and I still haven't fixed them - and throw a fluffy dressing-gown over my shoulders. I quickly towel my messy blonde hair so it isn't dripping, and stride over to the bed. The curtains are open and I sit and watch the clock for three hours. Thinking over and over about my mother. My friends. District twelve. And the upcoming Hunger Games, that would bring yet another group of terrified children into my prison or 'The training centre' to give it its proper name. All eager to see their families again but very few of them willing to do what it takes for that to happen.

I think about my role in these games. 'Kill the Lure and allow for one extra tribute to walk free from the arena'. The 'Lure' or 'Adescare' – to give it it's proper name - being me.

This rule had only come about seven years ago, when I was taken from the Seam and dumped here, and I had to guess that this year would be its last. After all, there had _never_ been anyone in the arena over the age of eighteen and starting now would cause confusion amongst the capitol residents. The ones that watch innocent children brutally murder each other as a source of entertainment. They aren't the smartest of people, but they act like a pack. So upsetting one means upsetting the rest, and President Snow likes to think that he already has enough on his hands.

Conveniently, this year happens to be the 75th Hunger Games or the third Quarter Quell. So I am pretty sure that whatever the twist is, it's going to be especially nasty. Both for me, and for the Districts. Especially Katniss Everdeen. Last year's co-winner along with her lover Peeta Mellark. Their final, risky, act of defiance, spearheaded by the girl, sure upset Snow and his lot and as far as the President can help it, her days are most certainly numbered.

There are, of course, some good things about the return of the games. I rarely see people, save for Avox's, and even when I do have company it's usually only when President Snow brings his friends-in-high-places with big video camera's over to impress them and to rub it in my face that I am still, very much, here as a slap in the face to the whole of twelve. They televise me sometimes, when things start to look on the rough side. Televise someone giving me a good slap round the face with a shoe whenever someone challenges a Peacekeeper. Televise me getting a whipping when someone is caught stealing, or caught 'loitering with intent' by the fence that surrounds the district. Once I've bruised up nicely, they might show a small video of me in some of the other districts. To remind them that if they begin to show even one sign of being a potential threat to the power of the Capitol this will happen. They'll take a small child and raise it in their charge. Throwing it into the arena annually, with twenty four freedom hungry others all desperate to get out alive at all costs. Use it as bait. My child's life or yours. It would sometimes cause arguments in twelve. I see it whenever I'm taken over to hang around at the back of the reaping ceremonies, I get taken to various Districts, so far I have attended reapings in Districts; four, eleven, three and, of course, twelve which I attend every other year . Families will fight in the square, wondering what will happen if their child turns against their 'Ally'. There are rarely allies in the arena. None that last anyway, except Mellark and Everdeen last year.

I enjoy the company of the other tributes. Most of them glance at me pitifully and give me apologetic grimaces as if they can't bring themselves to accept that in a few days they'll have the option to take my life in exchange for increasing their chances of survival... Well, if they catch me.

Seven years of the games have toughened me up. For the first two or three years I wouldn't touch anyone. I stayed, hidden near food and water until the others had killed each other off but now I let them come to me. And then I murder them. I don't even care anymore. I'm awful.

I'm good friends with the District twelve mentor Haymitch Abernathy. We get along so well I think because he's usually too drunk to even care who I kill, what I say or how I act. But, on the rare occasion when he's sober enough to think straight we still get on. We insult each other a lot, I think that's how we work.

Some when around six o' clock I fall asleep. Sending myself into one of my more pleasant dreams. I dream about Gale, and remember how happy I used to be whilst out hunting with him on occasions, teaching him how to tie snares the way I had been shown by my Grandfather before he had died. We were so young, I was nine when I first met Gale, he was ten. We met because he stopped one of the Peacekeepers from hitting me for peering through the fence surrounding the district, taking the slap himself. It wasn't a hard slap, but it still left a nasty purple bruise on his cheekbone for days. After that we began to talk, trust each other. And explored the woods a little bit outside the fence. I could throw a knife pretty accurately, and he was better than me at fixing up snares and learning different ways to lure and trap game.  
>Then I was taken and by chance got a while to say goodbye. And the only thing I could say to him was <em>"Find a new hunter."<em> How ridiculous must I have sounded? But gladly he managed it, Katniss Everdeen. And she must be one damn good hunter. Scary with a bow and arrow. I think the only reason I survived last year's games is because Gale must have said something to her beforehand about at least trying not to kill me. She was nice too, kind to me. She had that same flair as Haymitch did and that made her easier to talk to.

I recall searching for Gale's face at each District twelve, reaping I have peeped at since I was captured. He has grown over the years. Grown very tall indeed. It was hard to make a judgement from the back of the stage but I guessed that he had cleared six foot by the mere age of fourteen. He's also got very good looking. And I could see from the way in which some of the girls glanced scathingly at Katniss when he ran forward to pick up Primrose that alot of people had seen it too.

I am woken by a thudding at my door and I groggily drag myself up and over to unlock it. A silver haired Avox woman, obviously some traitor from the capitol on account of her green tinted skin and abnormally large eyes, stands there with a neatly enveloped letter. On the back pressed into the paper is the seal of the government and I groan. "Thanks" I say to the Avox and shoot her my trademark lop-sided grin as she leaves the room.

I walk to the middle of the room and throw the letter down onto the bed and move to the wardrobe, programming it to give me an outfit that I like – A thin shirt and some cropped tight trousers that remind me so much of my hunting clothes. I also bandage up my left hand tightly. I cut it yesterday whilst using the training rooms to practice my one signature skill – sword fighting. I am damn handy with a sword. I'm not supposed to use the rooms at all, but no-one can tell on me. It would be an awful effort for an Avox, and they're all fond of me anyway.

Quickly I check my appearance in the mirror and laugh. My hair is all flat on one side and on the other, its usual not quite curly, not quite straight mess. Due to the fact that I had fallen asleep in such a strange position with my hair still damp. I walk to the bathroom and place my hand on the pad that sends a current through my hair to tame it and then walk over to the mouthpiece in the corner of the room.

I pause for a while to recall what Effie Trinket told me that delicious food was last time she was here... Pi..Pisa..Piz... "Pizza?" I question myself out loud, but I turn out to be correct. I take the steaming hot dish over to my bed and reluctantly read the front of the envelope. I'm expecting the familiar handwriting of President Snow or possibly Seneca Crane. Snow likes to write to me, just to 'keep up' with what I'm doing. Really he just does it to mock me, and drop 'subtle' hints as to what is going on in District twelve in my absence. Crane likes to write to hint to me about upcoming arena's. Whether this is because he is trying to intimidate me or help me I don't know. I'm mostly indifferent. But this writing is new to me.

_**Bet Roburn  
>The training centre<strong>_

That's all that's on the front of the envelope, so I decide to go ahead and open it.

_**Miss Roburn,**_

_**I understand that you may have been expecting the usual letter from either President Snow or the late Seneca Crane. However, the President is a very busy man, as I am sure you will understand.  
>I write to introduce myself, but also to remind you that the reading of the card shall be televised tonight and it is obligatory that you watch.<br>You shall also be attending the reaping this year in your old District, District twelve. **_

_**My regards, **_

_**Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker.**_

I read the letter through again. _'The late Seneca Crane' ... 'Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker'_

My stomach squirms. Crane is dead. And it's pretty obvious why. He let Everdeen and Mellark live last year instead of blowing them to smithereens. Maybe it has caused some unrest in the Districts, a long awaited uprising maybe? I shake my head. I'm just being hopeful. None of the Districts are strong enough to rise against the Peacekeepers. Security will have been tightened, now I come to think of it. I can't believe I have missed this. Katniss Everdeen is the first person to ever play the games on anyone's terms but the Gamemaker's, and pulling those berries, showing that final act of refusal, surely would have been enough to spark something. After all, she was... _is_... The girl on fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, chapter 2... Dun dun dun... Thank you to PhoenixHeart13123 for reviewing and thanks to Matsuri Hikari and Katie and Shelby for putting this on alert!**

**Anyway, chapter 2, have fun!**

I am no longer in the mood to eat so I just leave the half eaten food on my bed and venture out of my room to see whether there is something for me to do.

I end up on the roof. It's a nice day, cold but not windy. I sit near the edge and look out over the gleaming buildings of the Capitol. There are big screens on the sides of some of them. They advertise products and services like – buy one get one free, hair and skin dying! Or slim and sexy! - The new range of women's clothing that literally sucks the fat out of you, through small tubes that are sewn into the fabric that somehow get into your body when you put the clothes on. It's disgusting really, when you think of all the children living in the Seam. Piles of bones, most of them.  
>But the most frequent advert on the screens is one for the 75th Hunger Games. Bigging it up. Making it sound like a wonderful adventure for everyone involved. There are renewed adverts for the arena tours, where Capitol citizens can walk around old arena's and travel to the sites of memorable happenings in the games. Even re-enacting the killings.<p>

I ignore my surroundings however and, instead try to imagine that the silvery metal of the sky-high buildings is actually the mountains of twelve. And the hum of engines is the moan of rumbling bellies in the Seam. And already, I feel more at home.

After a long while of gazing out at the shining city, stealing food from the dining room and nosing around the training centre, I find myself back on the roof. I look at the building with the clock. It has been nine hours since I first stepped on the roof this morning. I know someone won't be happy. What with the reflective sides of the buildings and the always blaring sunlight of the Capitol I have probably burned a little. I don't care. They'll put some magic cream on me and I'll be fine. But it tends to leave tan marks, and that makes me look healthy. And the Government doesn't like me looking healthy. So I do everything possible to keep at the top of my game. I am strong. Fit. And I can wield a sword extremely well. And I reckon now, when I get thrown into the arena this year, I could give the careers a run for their money.

Regardless of how much I love to annoy the Government however, I decide that I probably should go back in to the centre. The reading of the card will be beginning soon. And if I don't watch someone will probably die or something.

I have to look presentable too, because some of the escorts and government members are coming to watch here. I haven't a clue why they don't just go to the ceremony. They could probably afford it. Might even get in free if they're lucky. They do have the _gruelling_ job of preparing tributes for slaughter after all.

I wander back down to my room and slap a few buttons on the side of the shower before going back to my bed to get undressed. I shoot a dirty look at the letter that is still laying there. I imagine that it is infact President Snow's face and I grab it and rip it up viciously. Leaving the scattered scraps of paper laying everywhere I quickly undress, unwrap my wounded hand, and get into the warm shower.

Once I have washed my body and hair, and cleaned up my re-opened cut, I use the touch pad to sort my hair out and wrap myself in one of the capitols thick, fluffy bath robes.

I quickly pick up all of the paper scraps littering the bed and floor and throw them down another hatch in the wall which stinks like a skunk's backside, so I've always assumed it's for rubbish.

I move over to the wardrobe and programme it to give me a dress that even President Snow himself would have to take a second glance at. I have to know how to dress myself because, being the Lure and not a Tribute, I don't get my own stylist. And people in the Districts and, sometimes, the Capitol have the option of sponsoring me over another tribute. So I have to make an impression.

The dress it made of a thin, floaty and translucent material on the sleeves that are long, and loose but tighten at my wrists. The material continues to make the rest of the dress but underneath it is a thicker material which prevents anything being seen. The dress stops at a little length above my knee and is completely white. It is very pretty, and I think, the reason that I chose it is because it is very similar to the dresses my mother used to make for higher class District twelve wedding guests.

My mother is a seamstress, she lives in the seam and everyone now knows her shop as 'Seam's Seams'. The quality of the clothes she makes, or the repairs she does is that of excellence. Yet she doesn't make very much money due to the fact that there is little call to look nice in District twelve. The main part of her job now involves repairing miner's jackets and trousers when they become too torn be useful. I haven't spoken to her in the last six years of my life. She wouldn't know who I was on meeting if I hadn't been televised in my absence.

I try to guess whether I will be expected to eat later. Easy really. The people coming here are from the Capitol. They eat _everywhere_. So I don't ask for anything now except for some water which I sip for no other reason than to while away the time until it begins.

If I'm correct, the residents in the Districts don't know that this is the reading of the card. The only information that they have been given is that there is 'mandatory programming' this evening. Meaning that if they aren't watching the programme, they're in trouble. Big time.

I can't understand why the programme is so long. I have never seen a card reading ceremony but I can't imagine it would take very long to do. I think there must be something else going on, but I'll have to wait to find out. There is only half an hour left until the programme starts so I guess that everyone who is supposed to be here, has arrived.

It takes a great deal of effort for me to haul myself off of my bed, check my appearance in the mirror – my hair is a wavy, tangled mess that reaches the small of my back and could probably be home to a small animal from the sheer messiness of it. I attempt to resolve it by using the hand pad in the bathroom four times until it begins to look less hedge-like. – Bandage up my hand, and slap my usual lop sided grin on my face to please anyone who cares, before unwillingly dragging myself across the training centre to the television room.

The room is lined with a bunch of unfamiliar looking government officials – obviously here for Snow. Keeping an eye on me. – A team of Avox's, keeping everyone satisfied whilst they receive grateful grins and compliments from me. They keep my business away from Snow and allow me to have as much of a private life as possible here, and for that I am grateful. The last group of people are familiar, they are a few of the District escorts. The escorts from Districts three, five, six, seven, eight, ten and twelve are here. I sigh, almost relieved that I won't be completely alone tonight. I get along nicely with Effie Trinket as long as I remember my manners and ask her as much about her hair as possible.

I put on my best smile and approach her slowly.

"Effie!" I cry, as 'Capitol-like' as I can muster. They all talk strangely over there.

"Bet! My dear! How are you? My, you've grown, oh and you're so beautiful! And those _legs_! Oh! If only you were a tribute! Your stylist would be able to work wonders!" She replies whilst throwing her arms in the air and stepping back as if she is taking my person in slowly. Her eyes linger for a moment on my bare feet and I can see the disapproving look flash across her face, but she says nothing.

Effie has the unfortunate ability to say exactly the wrong thing without realising it. Complimenting me on my legs or whatever she was saying is wonderful and nice of her, but the wilfulness that flooded her tone of voice when she speculated about me being a tribute and what my stylist could do was less so.

"I'm well, thank you Effie." I reply. I'm not, but it's all phatic conversation in the Capitol anyway. "I love your hair!" Compliment number one – check. Effie's hair today matches her shoes. It is a garish yellow colour and looks as if it could light up the room on its own.

Effie smiles widely and shakes her head like Capitol people seem to do when they receive compliments, they can't just say thanks. "Oh no darling, it's nothing really. I was just getting so terribly bored of the magenta that I thought 'why not spruce it up a bit?' so I decided to get a much lighter colour which worked wonderfully because I knew I had these shoes somewhere that-" Effie is cut off by the loud music coming from the large television screen in the centre of the wall and we all move to the large sofa's and sit, awaiting the ceremony's beginning.

I can hear whispers of anticipation coming from the escorts and government officials. And I hear nothing from the Avox's. As usual.

The programme begins with the good old Hunger Games interview host, Caesar Flickerman addressing a huge crowd of standing capitol residents and saying something about a wedding. He then proceeds to introduce one of the nicer stylists – Cinna – who has apparently been the dress designer for this wedding, and converses with him a while. Nothing groundbreaking. Just a few mentions of Katniss Everdeen, his tribute last year, and how flawless she had looked in the games, both in the arena and out. And then the camera pans to a giant screen located near the stage.

I gasp as pictures of, obviously, Cinna's creations appear before my eyes. But not because of their beauty – which is, I must say, breathtaking. If not a little too fancy for my tastes. – But because of who is modelling them.

I stare blankly at the screen while Caesar talks some more about capitol residents needing to cast their final vote in order to decide which of the masterpieces should be the final design. But my attention is caught, and my fears and bewilderment confirmed when Caesar gives an almighty shout "Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" He yells to the crowd as they cheer.

I notice Effie and the majority of the other occupants of the room staring at me. I've obviously made some noise that indicates that I'm not comfortable with this whole thing.

I'm trying to put two and two together but I just doesn't make sense. Why is Katniss getting married? And to whom? And why do the Capitol care so much about it?

But then it hits me. And I feel stupid for not having realised it before. Who are the couple that every Capitol citizen holds so dearly to their hearts? Who are the people that have caused the death of Seneca Crane by performing one last act of defiance in the arena? Who are the only couple that President Snow would know would have some effect on everyone? In Panem _and_ the Capitol? Who is the innocent boy who has a way with words and is tugging at the heartstrings of every brainless Capitol resident with each subtle move he makes?

Peeta Mellark.

"Holy moley." I say. Because it's the only thing I can think of. Effie squeals but I ignore her.

"You didn't watch the Victory tour, did you?" Asks a deep voiced government official, with mahogany skin and a kind looking face. One that does not fit well with the ruthless and boring nature of his job.

I shake my head slowly.

"Miss Everdeen and Mr Mellark." He continues, moving forward, away from the clan of stony looking officials. "They got engaged, in the Capitol ceremony. It was very public. People have been voting for her wedding dress ever since."

I want him to continue, I like his voice, and I need to know everything about this. But Caesar is speaking again, and this time, it's about what I expected when I received my letter this morning.

"This year's the 75th anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for the Quarter Quell!" He announces, delightedly.

A surge of anger and hatred flows through me when he welcomes President Snow to the stage, followed by a young boy who looks dead scared. When his theme tune, or the anthem of Panem, finishes, he drones on about the dark days and how the Hunger Games is the government's reminder to the rebels that they are supreme and yada yada blah.

Details of the previous quarter quells are read out "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it." That's brutal. I can't even begin to think how those tributes must have felt. Knowing that even their own district had put them there. In the arena. To die.

President Snow continues, "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." Haymitch won that year. I remember him telling me once, when he was drunker than usual. It doesn't sound nice. At all. Forty seven kids to kill rather than just twenty three.

I am getting nervous now, because I am anticipating the worst. Expecting the card to say something like 'All of you team up and kill the Adescare and then you can start hacking off each other. No reason. She's just been around too long.'

"And now we honour our third quarter quell." Snow says as he gestures to the small boy who nervously opens the box. So many envelopes sit inside, centuries of bloodbaths, tortured families and Capitol entertainment. Whoever wrote them must have had one hell of a time.

The President runs his hand across the box and nabs out the envelope with the number 75 printed in big, black numbers on it.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors." He pauses, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief because I think he has finished. It is awful, yes. But I have a chance against old people. Sadly, he continues. "Also, as a reminder to the rebels that even those who have been punished cannot fully right their wrongs. The Adescare shall be placed in the arena as a tribute, along with a second tribute of the opposite sex, from the Adescare's home district." Snow finishes, with the ghost of a smirk playing around on his lips. I can tell. He knows he's got me now. I stand up and stumble to the table. The eyes of the whole room are on me. I try to say something. But anything I was planning on saying is soon forgotten as I vomit in to the punch bowl.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three has landed! Thanks to fools and worthless liars for putting this story on alert! **

**Enjoy!**

It's a fix. I know that much. There was no such thing as an Adescare back when the cards were written, so there is no way that this was just an 'unfortunate coincidence'.

I am sitting, my knees hugged to my chest, in the crook of the cornered sofa in the television room. The Avox's have cleared away the punch bowl and conversation between guests has now resumed its steady pace. No-one pays attention to me.

It is just too 'convenient'. It takes care of Katniss Everdeen easily. She's the only female victor alive in twelve. So there'll be no great surprises for her on reaping day, I briefly wonder how she's taken this news. The only living male victors from twelve are Peeta Mellark and Haymitch Abernathy as far as I can remember.

And now I have to go in as a tribute. The thought suddenly became real. Not only that, but some poor boy has to be dragged into it alongside me. District twelve will be losing four residents this year, our odds are worse than everyone else's. I'll have to try and teach him everything that I've got.

The evening ends with little event of interest. Effie gives me a hug and wide smile and whispers in my ear, "It will all be ok. Ok?" Before leaning back, holding my shoulders and, in her resumed Capitol accent, exclaiming "What a wonderfully exciting twist!" Turning her back and striding out of the room.

Four of the officials have to be escorted out by Avox's because they have drunk too much and can no longer stand.

I smile and wave at people, mask my inner terror and hatred, the screams and insults I wish I could throw at them, and I say goodbye to the nice looking official. He mumbles a quick "I'm sorry, good luck," in my ear before resuming his professional, stern expression and leaving.

I excuse myself from the room now teeming with Avox's, cleaning up the mess from the drunken men and getting rid of food, and make my way to my room.

I tear off the dress, so pretty and striking at the start of the evening, which now seems so silly, innocent and pathetic. Nothing like a tribute should be. No. If I am going to win this thing, I need to have an image of power and no-nonsense. People know me now, know my progression from timid, scared and shy to strong, ruthless and smart. And that means I will have nothing to surprise them with _in _the arena. So I will have to make one hell of an effort beforehand.

But that can all wait. I am tired and wish to think of today's events no longer. So I crawl in between the thick covers of my bed in my underwear and fall asleep almost immediately.

When I wake up my throat is dry and sore, I smell of vomit and alcohol and food. So I take a shower. I don't leave my room as I feel that if I do then I might throw up again, and my dignity needs some time to heal up. I stay in bed all day, write a bit, draw a bit, sleep a lot and order far too much food.

The next day however is the total opposite. I don't sleep well overnight and am awake by four am. At six I make my way to the gym but am turned away by two gamemakers that have obviously been placed there over the last day. I am a tribute now; I can't have any advantage over the others. I already do, but that's a different story.

Instead I result to devising a training programme that utilises the centre itself. I run the stretch from my room at one end of the building, up the long flights of stairs that lead up through the floors belonging to each of the district's; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12. I then make my way up to the empty floor, which I guess is where I'll be put with the other tribute and our mentor... If we get one. And finally up on to the roof. I then run all the way back down to my room and repeat this twice. Then, I use some metal poles, which I found near the garden on the roof, to practice my sword fighting against the human sized mound of junk I have made. I practice throwing at meal times by flinging the cutlery at the wall, where I have hung a small picture of President Snow which always appears somewhere around the centre. I try to find imaginative ways of destroying the pictures and leaving them where he will find them. It's like a game. It's the most fun you can have when you're on your own.

I do a range of other physical tests and routines in order to ensure no-one would have too much of an upper hand in a fight. But I know there is one thing that I am really screwed on in the arena, and that's food. Usually, because it would be really boring if I starved to death, the gamemakers shoo me towards a spot that is rich in edible and non-poisonous food. But this year will not be that easy for me. I have never had the access to books, plants or wild animals. Not enough to study anyway. The only time I've had to study that stuff is in twelve, but that was pretty much half of my life ago, so I have little hope of remembering any of it now.

The weeks leading up to the reaping proceed in this fashion, until the day we are due to leave for twelve, where I am attending the reaping The journey takes two days by hovercraft and the reaping takes place two days from now. It is this evening when President Snow finds his picture in the dining room with a fork sticking out of his chin and a spoon handle wedged firmly into his eye.

"Roburn, you are travelling in the hovercraft this year." He says, curtly, as I sit at the table in front of a cold plate of food. He addresses me like I'm actually not there, but he knows I can hear him.

"Alright." I reply. Not really caring. I travel in the hovercraft every year, but the President likes to be patronising.

"I need you to look presentable and pretty." He continues, walking over to his picture and surveying the dozens of knives, forks, spoons and a ladle, that are all stuck fast into the wooden panelling of the wall. He grips the handle of the fork that juts out of his chin and tugs it free. "Not a very hard task for you." He sneers.

I hate him.

"Bit hard for you to follow the same dress code though." I remark. Normally, someone would be fined, at the very least, for something like this. But I think the President knows that I am going to be punished enough in the arena.

"I'd watch your tongue young lady." He warns, pointing the four pronged utensil at my face. "Or it might just be snipped." He says, raising his eyebrows at a passing Avox who hurries out of the room.

I curl my tongue around in my mouth and swallow. I don't reply. Instead I stare menacingly at the President until he speaks again. "Be at the roof in half an hour for the hovercraft to pick you up. You needn't bring any extra clothes. You'll have a closet. Be late and I'll have you thrown off the roof, how's that?"

I glare at him. Offer no answer but instead throw the knife that I am currently holding at the picture on the wall. President Snow is standing directly next to it and the knife skims his ear as it lands exactly in the pupil of the pictures' right eye. An expression of fear flits across his face and I can tell he is impressed, but he masks it extremely well. I stand quickly and stride out of the room, not looking at him.

I do little in the time between now and when I need to be on the roof. I eat carrot cake whilst pacing around my room, not because I am hungry, but because my hands need something to do to refrain from throwing things.

Before the half an hour is up I am on the roof. Shivering and awaiting the arrival of the hovercraft. Soon enough it appears, I am lifted in and we take off. On our trip to District twelve.

The hovercraft is finely furnished and thriving with Avox's to wait on the various travellers. Effie is here, and I am glad of that. Even though it is hard work to talk to her, any company is better than none.

When I am shown to my room, a different one every year, I thank the handsome Avox man with a grin and a wink and close the door behind me. The decoration this year is beautiful. The colour scheme is basic; black, white and red. And it is stunning. The bed, easily double the size of my giant one back in the training centre, is white, contrasting with the total black of the floor and three of the walls. It isn't raised but instead consists of a rectangular hole in the floor, filled with one big mattress and several blankets.

There is a low, long sofa type bench lining one wall of the room, it is the same black as the wall, making it invisible at first glance. The wall opposite the bed is one giant closet. The doors that mask its insides are a deep, deep, red, like the blood that President Snow so often reeks of, and they run the entire length of the room.

I open the doors and gasp. I've always had a closet that I just programmed and an outfit appeared, but here there are hundreds of outfits, mainly dresses. Actually here, lining the walls. I can easily walk inside the space and as I walk in a light flickers on and I see rows and rows of shoes, amongst other things. I spend a while, pacing around the shelves, racks and cupboards. Running my fingers across the fabric and looking closely at the intricate designs.

My Mother would love it.

But sadly, she would never see it. I think of how much all these clothes must have cost to make and buy, and how much of that money will never be used because there is no way one person could possibly wear _all _of these, surely? Then I think of families in the Seam, three shirts, a pair of shoes a few jackets, some trousers, and a reaping outfit, and that was the better off families. I was lucky, I was never too hard done for with clothes with my Mother's profession but I knew some kids who would wear the same pair of trousers for three or four months straight because there were more pressing things to buy than clothes. Clothes don't keep you alive.

There is no separate bathroom in here but instead, one corner of the giant floor and wall space has been tiled with black, polished tiles. They stretch out about four metres into the room and there, there is a toilet, a sink and a slight dip in the floor leading to a drain, because there is no single shower. Instead there is just a shower head, hanging from the ceiling and I am just supposed to shower in the middle of the tiled area.

It's very beautiful, the whole room.

After finding a part of the wardrobe that contains big shirts and throwing on a soft white one over my underwear, my inner five year old takes over. I stand in one corner of the room, which is about twenty metres in length, it's ridiculously big, far enough for me to run. And I sprint towards the mattress and take a flying leap onto it.

I lay, laughing for a while, and then I realise that this is the first time I have done so in about a year. I think the last time I properly laughed was in a conversation with district two tribute Cato in the gap when we ate lunch between training in the gym. We were both serving ourselves from a cart containing fruit and cheese, one of the Capitol's more enjoyable concoctions, and had turned and spoken to me so spontaneously that I had spilt the glass of water I had been holding all over him.

"I'm nothing of a threat to you." Was what he had been saying as he had turned. After I had helped him clear up the water I questioned him.

"You're what?" I asked, I remember wondering why he would even think of talking to me with his status, especially with the glares he was receiving from the career pack.

"I'm not a threat." He replied, looking me directly in the eyes. "I'm planning on being the only one that leaves the arena. So here's the deal. You watch my back, I'll watch yours. Keep you safe." He proposed. Very outright.

"Well," I replied, "It actually gives me something to do this year." I finished, raising my eyebrows at him and flicking the last bit of water out of my cup and into his face. I had been attempting to show that despite this conversation, we would still be enemies in the arena. Because everything changes once you're in there.

Strangely he had chuckled, "Good thing I'm not the 'girl on fire' isn't it?" He commented, tilting his head towards Katniss, before turning his back and swaggering over to the group of careers, who had all been looking daggers at me.

That was when I had laughed, at his comment, at how – despite the image he tried to put across – he was actually concerned that I should think of him as an enemy, and I laughed at how the other careers were glaring at me as if I had just bombed each of their homes.

Annoyingly however, that conversation had had the effect that Cato had wanted, because throughout the games, I had found myself closely stalking the career pack and sticking close, just in case something would happen to him, or me. In which case I would have some protection. It was a sort of barter system. He thought he was going to win and he was determined to be the only one. So I held him to that and knew that if I was attacked by another tribute, I could just make as much noise as possible and he would prevent my death.

I only ever did it once.

Glimmer, the female tribute from District one had attacked me whilst I had been napping at the foot of a tree. Usually I would have had the upper hand in the situation but I was pretty much helpless here, because Glimmer was standing on my stomach. So I screamed. Within seconds the careers, including Cato had arrived, thinking that it was Glimmer's screams that they had heard. Once they saw that it wasn't her they had all stepped back and let her get on with it, but Cato was obviously determined to keep his side of the deal and had wrenched her off of me, before shouting "Quick, go!"

I had stuck even closer to him after that, because I owed him. And that is something you _never _want to end up doing in the arena. I remember being quite distraught when he had died. Not that I wasn't glad that Katniss and Peeta won, but because he was the only person who wasn't from district twelve or, on occasion, eleven, who had ever spared me a second thought in the arena.

I _couldn't_ help him. That's what plagues me about the situation. If I had gone in to help him, then we both would have died. If I had somehow managed to save him from the mutts then he would have been severely injured for the rest of his life. Capitol 'magic' can only go so far.

So I remember sitting, curled up in the crook of a tree branch with my eyes screwed shut and my hands pressed firmly on my ears to block out his screams as the muttations had attacked him.

And all at once, I had yet another story I could add to my nightmares.

But tonight is different to usual, because tonight I don't dream at all. I merely place my head down on the ridiculously soft pillows that litter the mattress, which is the size of a small swimming pool, and fall straight asleep.

The next day is uneventful. I am forced to eat with Effie and a couple of other important people, which means that I have to remember my manners and not fling cutlery at the wall.

The next day is also uneventful, the only thing that happens is that I receive a pre-written memo from President Snow telling me that I need to prepare tomorrow's outfit because I will not have much time in the morning before I leave for the reapings. There is a small side note on the bottom reminding me of his requirements – _'I need you to look presentable and pretty." _– It also mentions that I will not just be around the back of the stage, peering through the gaps, this year. I will be up front, for all to see. I'd guessed as much. I am, in effect, being 'reaped'.

I step into the wardrobe and wait for the lights to flicker on. Then I slowly stroll around, looking at the dresses. Taking some out and putting them on, checking my appearance in a mirror that lines the full length of the back of the doors, and then beginning again. I feel selfish for having fun doing this, I feel spoilt. I feel like I'm from the Capitol.

I finally decide on a dress that I love and grab a pair of brown leather shoes that cover my foot completely and are cut before they reach the bottom of my ankle. They have a pattern cut into them which goes the whole way through and is a delicate line-art pattern of flowers.

The dress I have found is white, again. It has two thick straps that come down over my shoulders, exposing my collarbones but falling into a neckline that doesn't fall low enough to show much but isn't very high. The dress is fitted until it draws in at my waist and has a wide, brown leather belt with a ribbon tie. The skirt of the dress is loose and just meets my knees. It is made out of a fabric that reminds me of clouds, opaque, but it looks like it could disappear at the slightest movement.

I step out of the wardrobe and lay the dress and shoes carefully onto the black sofa before retrieving the white shirt I have been sleeping in from the toilet seat where I left it this morning whilst I showered, and cannon-balling straight on to the mattress as I have done for the past two nights.

I wake up to shouts. I have overslept and Effie is having one of her usual fits that take place whenever I am late. I roll over and groan groggily before opening my eyes.

Effie is at the part of the bench where I laid the dress before sleeping yesterday and she is calling me to 'Get up now!'

I comply and before I have fully begun to function I am being herded towards the shower. The water runs as Effie slams her hand against the wall and shoves me under the stream, in my nightshirt, before turning away and breathing an over-exaggerated sigh of relief.

I call to her from under the warm jets of water which, I think, are now mixing with a perfumed soap that smells of lavender. "Good sleep Effie?"

She huffs and replies, "Good enough thank you. Are you nearly finished? You're late."

Good old Effie and her schedules. It is so incredibly irritating.

I ignore her questions and continue to wash my hair. "Is that your dress for the ceremony?" I ask, I try and get my compliments running fast so the day isn't too unbearable. "It's very pretty." It's not. But I like Effie to at least think I'm nice, she doesn't have to believe it.

She seems to be grateful however, it's hard to tell since her back is turned but from her slightly more relaxed tone of voice I can tell the compliment has worked a little.

"Oh, it's nothing dear." She bats the compliment off, "Is that yours over there?" She questions and hurry's over to the pile of material.

I turn the shower off and immediately the blow dryers start, it's a bit of a shock compared to usually having to towel dry. I watch Effie as she inspects the dress. She seems satisfied enough when she puts it down, and the shoes even gain a small nod.

I sort my hair with the pad and am just putting on my underwear and a bathrobe when Effie speaks.

"This will look beautiful Bet, especially when you're talking."

I stop trying to find the armhole in the robe and look at her. "I'm sorry?" I ask, I can't have heard her properly I am sure.

"This will look beautiful when you talk today, at the reaping." She repeats, turning around just as I manage to find the arm and pull the fabric around me. "Come, put it on! We're late, as I keep reminding you!"

I move over to the dress and climb into it, sitting on the mattress to tie up the shoes. Everything is so comfy, and I don't look, in any way, like I am the Capitol's pet. I leave my hair messy as usual, and now could almost pass for a normal district twelve child, off to be reaped.

What Effie said earlier about talking at the ceremony nags at me but as soon as I am dressed I am driven out of the room, showered with compliments from various important people, and taken straight out of the hovercraft into the area behind the justice building in district twelve. I make a mental note to ask Effie what I am supposed to be saying on stage, but for now, the scent of burning coal, the noise of crowds and the feel of being even this close to the woods is exhilarating.

I am home again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4! And just to say, I know it isn't long, like, at all. But with any luck there'll be another chapter to follow either today or tomorrow so yeah. Thanks to fools and worthless liars for reviewing! And I'll continue this message at the bottom because there's something I need to say.**

**But for now, have fun reading!**

I can hear the buzz of the crowd, they don't sound as tense a usual because there is only one person being reaped as usual. But the depression they are feeling also comes through in their voices, their sadness at loosing Katniss again, at losing either Peeta or Haymitch. Peeta or Haymitch. Katniss and Haymitch were close, they had probably worked out a way that would involve Haymitch being the tribute. In that case, I would have to kill him. And I could _never _kill Haymitch Abernathy.

But, if Haymitch's name was pulled then surely Peeta would volunteer for him? And I couldn't deal with that either. I can't kill people I know, people I like. And I know alot of the old victors from various parties, meet ups and forced appearances.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I spin defensively. I was just thinking about the best way to go about murdering someone you like, probably from afar, would be the best way.

It was Effie.

"So," she began, in her usual hurried style, "all you need to do is just walk –like I taught you - to the middle of the stage, reach into the ball, grab a piece of paper and read in to the microphone ok?"

My smile, that I usually use to greet her, drops and my face turns stony. "What." I say. It's not a question as such because I fully understand what she has just told me. It's more of an exclamation of complete numbness and disbelief that I am going to be reaping someone.

This was surely Snow's idea. To get me disliked, even by my own district, before the games. To ensure that I will not get a single sponsor.

"You're going to be reaping your partner my dear," Effie exclaims, she doesn't sound happy, almost sorrowful. But I know this has nothing to do with me. It's because, secretly, she was very fond of Katniss and Peeta, even Haymitch. And she can't bear to think that this year, will probably be their last. "Reaping the male tribute."

And with that she walks off. And I want the ground to swallow me up. Kill me now, before I meet my end in the arena.

Before I can even think of what I could do to avoid it, avoid condemning some poor child to almost certain death. I am being shoved, by peacekeepers, towards the right hand side of the stage. Apparently I am late, and that is confirmed by the start of Mayor Undersee's recital of Panem's history. I peer round at the stage and see that Effie has already taken her seat and that there is one spare one for me. My stomach flips as I realise that this is Haymitch's usual seat and that I am expected to fill it. As I am looking around, I have been instructed not to enter until the Mayor is done, my eyes lock onto the three people who this must be terrible for. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch.

Katniss doesn't see me, she is determined looking, and staring directly at the stage, not wavering. She knows what is coming and I wish they would just get it over with. For her sake.

Peeta also does not notice me, he looks concerned. He knows that if his name is drawn, then he will be becoming a mentor this year, if Haymitch is drawn, then he will be back in the arena. Either way, he will be trying to keep Katniss alive for a second year.

Haymitch is the only one who takes note of my existence. We make eye contact and it is in that moment that I am sure that if he is in the arena, it will all be ok.

He isn't drunk, for once, and he looks alot thinner, better kept and fitter than the last time I saw him. He has almost lost his belly, the product of so many years of drinking, and the look he has about him is actually quite approachable. He winks at me, but barely masks the sullen expression on his face. I grin back, and have to hold myself up, because I am about to cry. And I don't want anyone, especially Haymitch, thinking that I can't handle this.

The Mayor finishes and I snap back into the moment, I see Effie's expectant glare as I am supposed to be walking up onto the stage and I kick myself into motion. When I reach the chair I do not sit down. I find myself unable to do it, unable to fill Haymitch's place. So I simply stand beside the chair, my long arms falling limply at my sides, whilst I watch Effie totter forwards and begin the Reaping process.

She pulls Katniss' name first after much flailing inside the ball, attempting to catch the scrap of paper, and Katniss slowly trudges up onto the stage and gives me a withering smile, which I attempt to return. We would probably end up trying to kill each other soon.

The next name pulled is Haymitch's and I let out an audible sigh, luckily not heard by anyone but Katniss, because Peeta volunteers almost immediately and strides up to the stage to meet us, with a no-nonsense look cast upon his features.

Effie falls silent and walks behind me and I wonder what is next. Then I feel a poke in my back from a manicured nail and I realise, with a dreadful fall in my stomach, that it is me.

I slowly approach the microphone and the full ball of boys' names and cough.

"Er..." I begin, slowly, "I'll just do this quickly then." I have never noticed before, how frail my voice sounds. But following Effie's chirpy tone I sound positively ill. I can see Mothers in the crowd, adjacent to the pen, with shocked and sorrowful expressions and I try and search for my own, but cannot find her.

I approach the ball and look at it as if it is a wild animal, ready to attack me. I don't want to put my hand inside. Don't want to take a piece of paper. And I don't want to condemn a child to almost certain death. But I do.

The paper I pick out was right at the bottom of the bowl and I don't open it until I arrive back at the microphone.

I feel as though I should say something before reading so I look out to the crowd and try to say something inspiring or memorable but all that I manage is, "I'm sorry."

Then I open the paper and frown. This can't be happening. I begin to panic at the same time as I begin to question how this is even possible. I step backwards, as if I am refusing to read. But before I can make a break for it I crash into someone. Peeta has come forward and is guiding me back towards the microphone. I hide the paper from him and he whispers "Just do it, or whoever it is will probably die anyway." This is true. He will be punished because I failed to do something. So I breath.

Steady myself.

And read with a wavering voice, the name that I was dead certain wouldn't be coming out.

"Gale Hawthorne."

**What I needed to say was that, yes, I know Gale is too old to have been reaped for the Quarter Quell but it's all going to make sense sooner or later:) Adios**


	5. Chapter 5

****EDIT - I just changed a little bit about the depth of Finnick and Bet's friendship that is all :)****

* * *

><p><strong>Hallo, Chapter 5... finally. Sorry about the wait, I couldn't use my laptop. Anyway it's here now. Thanks to eckles, Alice Williams and fools and worthless liars for everything :)<strong>

**Alice Williams - Thank you! And as you wish, I have updated ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer - I sort of forgot to do disclaimers on the other chapters so here's one great big one for y'all. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games. I'm merely playing in her sandbox.**

There came a muffled scream from the crowd as I finally spotted Gale, moving slowly forward. The scream had come from his mother Hazelle who was holding on to his shirt and shaking her head. Usually Hazelle is strong, and would not bend at this. But Gale was the one person that she would have thought was safe from this. After all, he had passed the age limit now. He hadn't even been in the boys reaping pen.

Gale turns to his mother and takes her head in his hands, looking directly into her eyes, and he calms her. Before he kisses her head, and walks directly up the middle steps of the stage, avoiding eye contact and going to the back to join Katniss and Peeta.

I don't know if I am expected to say anything, like Effie's _'Happy Hunger Games' _So I take it that I don't. And I just slowly walk to the back to join the other three unlikely competitors. We don't talk. Peeta and Katniss exchange a few glances with me but Gale doesn't even look up, not at any of us. I turn to look to the front of the stage where Effie is closing the ceremony on the dumbstruck audience and see Haymitch staring at the four of us, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly. I attempt a grin and tap my chin at him and he snaps his mouth shut and composes himself.

Then we are all roughly shoved into the justice building and met by a man that I don't know but the other three do. "New procedure" He snarls at us before we are ushered into a car and driven to the train station.

Haymitch and Effie meet us on the platform but we can't talk to them because they are surrounded by guards. We simply have to let ourselves be dragged wherever they want to take us.

We are shoved into the train and the doors are slammed behind us.

Katniss moves to the window and stays there until we can no longer see the forest.

Peeta stays where he is and watches her from behind.

Gale slumps down onto the floor, leaning up against the wooden wall of the train.

And I watch them all, feeling a bit strange. I thought I would be able to do this easily. I didn't think I'd have much of a problem, I've been through games before.

But being a tribute was different. These people would, more than likely, become my friends. Gale _is_ my friend. Peeta and Katniss were nice to me last year.

Peeta and Katniss exchange a few quiet words by the window before Katniss leaves and strides down the train to her room. Peeta also leaves, and I look towards Gale.

He sits, knees bent and head between them. Slouched over and unresponsive. He isn't going to be talking.

So I leave and find my room. And slump onto the bed.

I had expected to see my Mother again. To be allowed to say a small hello, and then goodbye again. See what she looked like.

But even that had been taken away now. That small comfort.

I suddenly realise that I have no idea of what being a tribute is actually like.

I don't know why the security procedure has changed and we are not allowed to see our friends and relatives.

I don't know who will be my and Gale's mentor and stylists.

I don't know why Gale won't speak to me.

But I do know one thing. And that is that my priority is no longer to be the victor.

My priority is to ensure that Gale is.

Effie does her rounds and calls us all to dinner, which is a very subdued event.

No-one talks much. I sit in between Haymitch and Katniss, and the only conversation for a while comes from Peeta and Effie.

Peeta makes hair compliments. He's used my only tactic.

Effie then replies, saying how she wants them all to look like a team and that they should all get matching coloured accessories.

"I think that's a great idea," Peeta says, encouragingly "How about it Haymitch?"

"Yeah, whatever." Says Haymitch. And that's the end of that. Someone seems to have him trained, because he isn't drinking. And I have realised that I don't like sober Haymitch as much as I like tipsy or even drunk Haymitch. He's miserable. Too miserable to even respond to a remark about Effie's hair that Katniss makes in an attempt to cheer him up.

He merely glares at her and ends conversation once again.

We eat in silence for another couple of minutes and I survey the table.

Peeta is eating with exceptional table manners, probably to keep Effie happy, and is smiling at everyone when eye contact is made. Katniss is looking annoyed at the fact that no one is speaking, but she keeps to her manners to avoid an outburst. Haymitch is glaring like nobody's business. Effie is the happiest out of all of us, or at least, she acts like the happiest. She just acts normal, but alot quieter.

Gale is the quietest. Which is an achievement seeing as the entire party is eating in silence. But he doesn't even eat. He stares at the food as though it is poisonous.

I break the silence by dropping my spoon into my bowl and clearing my throat. "So, do you know when Gale and I are meeting our mentor?" I ask, curiously. Casting a questioning look at Effie and Haymitch.

"You mean you don't know?" Effie questions, sounding a little dumbstruck.

"Know what?" I reply, expecting the worst. Our mentor has probably been gunned down by a stray lunatic. And we're going to have to fend for ourselves.

"Work it out genius." Haymitch bluntly orders. But I still have no idea what they're on about. "If there was a new mentor, you would have met them by now. So..."

"So, _you're _our mentor? You?" I ask, beginning to smile.

"We got lumped with the biggest bunch of dead end tributes there is, yes." He answers, a slight smirk lurking under his sunken expression.

Katniss furrow's her brow, "Dead end?" she asks, sounding quite offended.

"Well, there's no way in hell any of you are gonna kill each other is there? You're all friends in some way, but you've got to remember. The tributes this year, they're also all friends or at least acquaintances. They don't want to do it either." He says, and now I can see why he's staying sober. He needs to be to mentor us, to keep his head about him to see that none of us do anything stupid.

"Who says we won't kill each other?"

Gale's deep voice draws everyone's attention. The very air is still as a reply to his question is awaited.

"Shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" Effie says shrilly, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

We all gather around the compartment with the television and Peeta leaves and returns with a notebook.

There have been Seventy-five victors of the games, fifty-nine of them are still alive and most of them I know. Some are friends.

There are some that I have seen, but never spoken to. Some tend to have a dangerous edge to them, and some just don't talk. A lot of them took to drugs and drink so are almost unrecognisable to people from other districts, and even more are so ill and old that it might even be a mercy for them to go in to the arena.

One by one, the reapings are performed.

From district one, two siblings are reaped, they are both beautiful people and have the classic career build,

From two an aptly named man, Brutus. And a woman that I recognise, purely because of her single distinguishing feature; gold-tipped, fang shaped teeth. Her name is Enobaria, and I have never liked her much, even as just an acquaintance.

District three presents an older couple who I am not too familiar with. I suppose it's because residents from three tend to keep to themselves more than other districts, and that's why I never had too much trouble from three's tributes over the years.

Four presents Finnick Odair: the heart throb with a string of lovers from both capitol and district, both old and young, rich and poor. I know Finnick from many a meeting both in games situations and social ones, and killing him is something that I won't be doing in a hurry. Also from four, a hysterical Annie Cresta. The pretty girl who's time in the arena got the better of her and has turned her mad. No sooner has my stomach dropped at the thought of being against poor Annie, an old woman who Haymitch calls 'Mags' has volunteered and hobbles to the stage. Using a walking stick.

The reapings continue for the rest of the districts. Giving us no-one of too much memory apart from Johanna Mason, a clever victor from seven, Cecilia, a woman from eight that Effie seems to know, who has to detach herself painstakingly from three children who cling to her as she is called. And Chaff, Haymitch's friend from district eleven. I can hear Haymitch's audible groan from beside me and I feel the same inside.

Then twelve's reaping comes.

Katniss is called, then Haymitch and Peeta volunteers. Then one of the commentators has a breakdown because it seems that _'the odds will never be in their favour'. _Then I do my bit, and condemn Gale. There are speculations of another couple having been reaped in twelve and it takes me a while to understand that they are putting two and two together with my refusal to reap Gale. I shake my head. The anthem plays. And the programme ends.

Haymitch stands and leaves without saying a word, he will want a drink. But for his responsibility for us he won't.

Effie mumbles somewhat about this tribute or that but eventually leaves.

And now it's just us four. Us tributes from twelve. Wondering what on earth we are going to do now.

The only noise comes from Peeta tearing pages from his notebook and I briefly wonder what he has noted in there before he speaks. I think it is aimed at Katniss, but I am not sure.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" He says, his voice breaking from lack of use.

"What are you going to do?" She replies, her eyes not meeting his.

"Just review my notes awhile." Peeta reassures her, flattening out one of the pages of his book, "Get a clear picture of what we're up against. But I'll go through it with you in the morning. Go to bed, Katniss."

She obeys him, and I wonder if this is what it is going to be like.

Peeta and Katniss, a team, the 'star-crossed lovers' looking out for each other. Leaving me and Gale to figure this out for ourselves, and then, in the arena, killing us.

I want to break the silence but I can't find a suitable way to do so, luckily I don't have to.

"So," Peeta's soft voice fills the still compartment. "How has life been for you Bet?" He asks, "Their prisoner, for all these years." He adds.

Of everything I was expecting, this was last on the list. I was expecting plans for the arena, images to put across to ensure sponsors, alliances to make and bonds to break. Not general chitchat.

"Bad." I answer, truthfully. I feel selfish to complain when I've lived in a clean environment, with a shower, food, even servants. But then I compare that, to the beatings, torture for information that the government knew I never had. The screams they would play through speakers at random intervals in the night. The friends the capitol would bring in, turn into Avox's and place specifically where I would find them. And I suddenly feel the need to tell Peeta everything I have never told anyone.

This is when something that I overheard in a conversation that I was eavesdropping on last year comes to mind. Something Peeta had said about Katniss. _'She has no idea. The effect she can have.' _And I suddenly thought that this phrase would be better used the other way around. Peeta has a way of making you talk, one that is much more effective than any Capitol torture.

But I don't want to tell him. I need to. But I don't want to.

"Not just bad." I correct myself, "Torture." And I end it there.

"Oh I'm sure." Comes the deep voice that has overtaken the high pitched one I remember, but still has the same coarseness, the same hatred mixed with the same friendship.

I look to Gale. Where he sits on the sofa, the light does not completely show him, giving him an edge to his appearance that matched his words.

"It must have been so hard. Not to have to hunt for food. Not to worry constantly whether you'll be able to eat tomorrow. Not to wonder if your day's work will kill you. Not to be a slave." His words are spoken with malice and each accusation cuts deeply.

"Yes." I reply, feeling sick to my stomach. My best friend. The one I always thought would be there for me when I was done with this. The one with the same burning hatred for the Capitol that I now housed.

The one who now thinks that I am one of them.

The Capitol's doll.

Prepped up and pampered for public appearance. Waited on and praised behind the scenes.

"Yes Gale. I forgot how much I enjoy it."

Then I follow Haymitch's earlier lead, and leave the room in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello, now first thing, I must apologise for the long wait. I was kinda, on holiday and meant to get the chapter written up and posted before I went but I kinda... didn't. So I wrote half of this on holiday. **

**Secondly, I need to apologise again about the length of this one, it's really short. But it was kind of a filler chapter to get to the next one, which I have almost written now :) **

**Thirdly and lastly, I think, thank you to - this is long - iwantbirthdaycake, bluelibellule13, PrincessOfTheUniverse001, Amyb11, theDownHomeSouthernGirl, it'soliviakay, Nelle07, red1308, La-Lucy, itsmissshay and PredakingGee for favouriting and alerting and existing. So yeah. **

**ALSO, one very very very last thing, if you reviewed the last chapter and I have not replied to your review could you leave a review on this one saying, I dunno... Fluffy Bunny, so that I can say sorry and actually reply. **

**Because my emails all got deleted...**

**Right, now my A/N is probably longer than the chapter so goodbye.**

**OH, I forgot! Thank you to TimeLord293 for favouriting my other story 'Partners in Crime' which I've had a stupidly long gap between chapters. But I read through it on holiday and now have to finish the half written chappie I have saved. So stay tuned. **

**Right, self promotion over.**

**Disclaimer - The Hunger Games is not mine. I can only dream.**

I am not in the mood to sleep. I am not tired. The only reason I left the television compartment is because I was disappointed that my 'reunion' with Gale had consisted of him, putting me in my place.

Instead of going to my room I decide to find out where Katniss has got to, because I'm pretty sure she's not one to sleep on a day like this.

I soon find her, curled up on her bed, not moving.

Slowly I approach the bed and sit down, playing with a loose thread on the covers.

Neither of us speak for a considerable amount of time, and I begin to think that she has taken the same route as Gale. I am about to leave when-

"Watch him." Her muffled voice comes from the covers. She must mean Gale. Keep him 'safe' while she's looking after Peeta. But she doesn't know what he just said.

"I don't think he wants me to." I reply stretching my legs.

Katniss sits up and says flatly , "He's your best friend. You owe it to him."

I don't know what she is trying to get at when she says that I 'owe' Gale, maybe she just has high views of what friendship means.

"I don't owe him anything." I say. Maybe this is a bit rash, but I see no reason to take it back.

Her expression changes from indifference to disgust at the blink of an eye.

"You owe him far more than you ever owed Cato."

The bitterness in her voice is painful and shows some of the emotion that I have come to think of her being so free of.

"I owed Cato my life." I say, then pause and think, "After a while..."

"Don't make excuses." Katniss retorts, her grey eyes not wavering from my similar ones. "You agreed to help him, because you were _bored._"

Now I come to think of it, I suppose I had. I had no reason to help Cato out in the arena, until he saved my life, and I had said to him when he asked _'it'll give me something to do' _When I think over it, I'm shocked at myself.

"Fine." I reply, not continuing any further.

I get up to leave the room but Katniss isn't finished.

"He saved your life you know." She says matter-of-factly and I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head.

Furrowing my brow I turn around and go to sit back down on the bed, "He did?"

"Twice." Katniss says, twirling the end of her braid between her fingers. "He told me, before I went into the arena last year, that if I killed you unless you attacked me, then my family could fend for themselves while I was gone."

I raise my eyebrows, that didn't seem like Gale.

Katniss makes eye contact with me once again, "I wasn't going to spare you either." She says, sounding slightly ashamed. "I don't know if he was serious or not, but I wasn't risking it."

I have no proof that what she has said is true, but why should she lie?

So I take it as she has told me and make a point to say no more about it. I wait patiently for her to tell me about the second way. But she makes no motion to resume conversation, so I take it as my que to leave this time.

I still do not want to sleep, and the hallways are dark now. The faint hum of the train speeding along the tracks is neither soothing nor welcome, it puts me on edge. And I find myself glancing furtively around every five or so seconds as I wander around, trying to find something to do to keep me occupied.

I end up in the dining compartment curled up on one of the chairs and flicking bits of, what I think is meringue across the room until inadvertently doze off.

I am woken by a muffled scream and I jump, startled. Springing onto my feet and assuming a defensive stance, knocking the chair over in the process. The arenas have made me into a nervous person in the dark.

I hurry out of the compartment and along the corridors in the direction that I think the scream came from and I soon find myself back outside the television room. I am almost certain that the scream came from inside, but if Gale is there, then I am most certainly not going in.

However, when I peer through the doorway I see only Peeta and Katniss curled up and watching what looks like an old Hunger Games. I watch from the door for a while before I realise who it is that the camera seems to be giving more than their fair share of attention.

It's Haymitch.

He's bending over a small girl who is probably only a little younger than him, and I think she is dying.

Her neck sports several rising lumps, each with a small pin prick of a hole where blood flows in steady trickles down her heaving chest, soaking her shirt. Time passes so slowly. Almost as if the gamemakers have deliberately prolonged this moment in order to draw the most agony and emotion from the scene. After all, all they want is a good show.

However after an age the cannon blasts and Haymitch stands, moving away from the body of his fellow tribute to allow the hovercraft to appear and collect the corpse.

It is only now that I truly appreciate what Katniss went through last year when Rue was the one dying in her arms as she held her and sang, helpless.

Haymitch leaves the scene, not one to show that he had been affected in any way by the fall of Maysilee, and stays in a spot at the edge of the arena while all but one of the remaining cannon blasts sound.

The battle between him and his final adversary is especially bloody, just what the gamemakers ordered, and by the final few minutes the girl Haymitch is fighting from district one is clasping her hand over an empty eye socket and Haymitch's arm is the only barrier between his intestines and the dry earth. The pair stumble into Haymitch's spot and Haymitch collapses onto the floor, raking the ground with his free hand just as the monster of a girl rounds on him and launches an axe that misses him by a bit. Flying over the edge of the cliff and robbing either tribute of any immediately useful weapon.

Both children are occupied, trying to stem the flows of blood from wounds. Each trying to outlive the other. The girl looks like she is in with a strong chance as at this moment, Haymitch begins convulsing on the floor.

The look on her face is unreadable, there is just so much blood, but Haymitch sports a look that I can't quite decipher the meaning of. However, I judge from what the commentators are saying, that if I had watched the whole tape, I would know what was going on.

In a matter of seconds following the throw of the weapon, the axe is propelled back up, over the edge of the cliff, and lodges itself firmly in the head of district one.

She keels over.

The cannon fires.

The trumpets sound.

And Haymitch has won.

He immediately falls forward from the sitting position he had managed to secure and I can clearly see that he gains a mouthful of dusty earth in the  
>process but soon the hoverplanes have arrived and both Haymitch and the girl's body are attached and collected for a funeral, and surgery.<p>

"You know," a slurred voice startles me, "I've always admired your eavesdropping skills, nosey git." Haymitch teases, sliding out of the shadow of a nearby doorway.

"God I've missed you." I exclaim, stepping forward and hugging the only person who actually means safety to me. He beats me off eventually and steps back.

"Someone's ill."

"Shut up."

I furrow my brow at him, trying to find words to voice the thought that has just crossed my mind.

"What?" he asks, sharply.

"She's more like you than you give her credit for you know." I say, motioning to the room that Katniss and Peeta are in, and Haymitch shakes his head and produces a bottle of wine from behind him. He takes a swig and I laugh. Not sober anymore then.

"You have far too much spare time sweetheart." he shoots before staggering past me, squeezing my shoulder as he passes and enters the room to find his two original tributes, swigging the wine once more.


	7. Chapter 7

**HELLO. My apologies, I have taken forever to write this chapter. That is because I had exams, auditions, shows, rehearsals and hike's to get on with and by the time they were over, I literally had no time to write. I am sorry. **

**BUT IT IS HERE NOW... So, without further ado I shall thank: iris129, Peeta's and Finnick's mistress, Saber-tooth Fashionista, maggieblu and Rose Kurso for alerting and favouriting. I shall apologise for not replying to reviews again, because my email is broken. And I shall continue to tell you my list of things at the bottom of the page. **

**Enjoy :) **

It turns out that although we share a mentor, each of us four from twelve still gets our own stylist.

I stand, stark naked, in the middle of a room in the remake centre, after going through rigorous prodding, smearing, plucking, eliminating, perfecting, brushing and fussing in the hands of three people from the capitol that I can't help but adore.

They were all just so stupid. Like three overgrown and bizarrely decorated babies. Helpless, clueless and adorable.

They had chatted to and around me during the process and had told me that their names were Vondis - the tall, muscled man with rolling waves tattooed all the way up his arms and rippling blue hair to match.

Leahopra - the sassy, plump woman with dark skin, orange lipstick and shocking pink hair styled into one curving spike that arched over the back of her head.

And Silciena - the petite, tiny young woman. Probably in her early twenties, with lavender tinted skin, bright green nails and thigh length, flowing jet black hair, decorated with tiny, delicate lilies.

Those three are gone now, and I nervously await my stylist, who I have been told is named Klaive, and hope with all my being that he/she is not a complete idiot.

The door to the small room clicks open and I quickly spin around to see my lifeline before the arena.

He is not plain, yet not 'Capitol' fancy. Not Cinna yet not Caesar.

He is tall, about six inches taller than me, and he is thin.  
>He looks to be in his early thirties.<br>His face is long and almost rectangular, with cheekbones that look like they could cut diamond.  
>His hair is untidy and a shocking Ginger, coiffed at the front forming an attractive messy flop over his brow, framing his handsome, freckled face.<br>The marks that make him stand out as someone from the Capitol are on his collarbones and neck and shoulders and arms and, I'd wager, chest. Tattooed on his skin are various different plants, weathers, animals, patterns and words in many languages. The artwork snakes up and around, spreading out in all different directions and the overall effect is beautiful.

"Hi" I begin to say, but Klaive silences me with a sharp raise of his right arm. His hand poised with his index finger raised.

He circles me several times, making whatever judgements it must be important to make, and I can't help but feel a little exposed.

After what seems like an age, I begin to shiver and that seems to snap him back into reality.

"Oh, my apologies." he exclaims, looking embarrassed "Please, grab a robe and we'll have a chat."

We talk for about an hour and a half, until we finally get to talking about what he and gale's stylist have in store for us at tonight's chariot procession.

"I need to surprise them." I say, "Show them a side to me that they've never seen before."

Klaive grins, a grin not too dissimilar to the lop sided one I regularly dish out. "Oh, you'll certainly be surprising them." he says with an edge to his voice that, by looking at him, I wouldn't have thought him capable of.

* * *

><p>I catch Gale's eye and he raises his eyebrows, the first non-hostile motion he has made towards me since the reaping. But I glare at him and turn my back, showing him that his comments yesterday were still raw in my mind.<p>

His stylist is a middle aged woman named Yvelle who has the most muscled body I have ever seen on a woman. She seems to be nice enough though and she must be doing something right because Gale is actually taking to her civilly.

There is about half an hour until we are expected to make our way down to the ground floor of the centre to meet with the other tributes before the ride and Klaive and Yvelle want to use this time to teach us a bit about our costumes, which are... Interesting.

Apparently, Klaive and Yvelle worked closely with Cinna and Portia to dream up our outfits, they are designed to show a strong unison between Peeta, Gale, Katniss and I. At the same time as portraying us as two separate teams.

This is achieved by all four of us wearing the same, black jumpsuit. With Katniss and Peeta sporting the half crowns they were presented with at their victory showing, in a total black.

All four of us are taken into a room with the four stylists and Cinna sets us in front of a mirror that lines the wall. The lights are dimmed to imitate the conditions during the procession and Cinna and Portia press buttons inside the sleeves of Katniss and Peeta's costumes. They flicker, like fire, but much more gentle and captivating. They both look spectacular.

I look at Klaive and wonder what on earth our suits must do.  
>During our chat he told me that due to the fact that the gamemakers want to single me out to be separate from any alliance that may form, gale and I are not to be dressed as anything pertaining to district twelve's nature, such as coal, fire or mining. Instead our stylists must make up something completely different.<p>

I look at myself in the mirror for the first time since Klaive applied my makeup. I don't see myself however. I see someone with a scary sincerity about her. My face is no longer recognisable as the beaten up prisoner from the training centre. It is the sharp angled and dramatically coloured face of a warrior from district twelve, with a burning passion for revenge against the Capitol.  
>No-one will recognise me. And that is just what I wanted.<p>

Klaive and Yvelle move to gale and I and press identical buttons in each of our sleeves, just like Cinna had with Katniss and Portia with Peeta.

But instead of the image of embers my entire jumpsuit begins to writhe and slide around my body. I look to the mirror and see that the jumpsuit has changed from its previous uniform black, to a sea of merging colours.  
>Every now and then, the colours form a sequence, a memorable quote or the face of a victor from past hunger games.<br>I see Finnick's face float up my stomach. Then a quote _"Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire"_flashes up my left leg. Enobaria is busy on my right shoulder, ripping a tribute's throat out with her teeth. Mags journeys around my waist, cooking a dead snake on a white hot rock. And Haymitch appears on my chest, convulsing on the ground.

These images are only a snippet of what my jumpsuit shows between blurs of colour mixing and settling in different places.

I look at Gale and see that his outfit is doing the same thing. And then I notice that amongst the games, pictures from the districts are also flashing across our bodies. There are miners from twelve, journeying up his neck. Electricians from 3 working around his right elbow. Images from newspapers and quotes from songs appear and dissolve into the material.

"This is..." I begin to say; tentatively

"Perfect." finishes Peeta.

I look to him, 'perfect' wasn't even close to the word I was looking for.

"Well," he says "it's sending a message to the capitol isn't it?" he steps over to me and gale, who i am surprised to see listening intently.

"They want to single you out to prevent district twelve from rooting for you. So instead of that, you've got _all_ of them going for you. But we're doing more than just gaining fans. By showing their victors that they are proud of, showing their residents who are constantly enslaved. We're bringing a union into the hunger games. _We're_uniting the districts."

He is right. Of course he is right. He is Peeta.

* * *

><p>The stylists disappear while the four of us take the journey down to the hanger, where all of the other tributes will be waiting.<p>

No-one talks as we stand in the elevator and the only sounds are the humming of the electrics as we plummet downwards and the swishing sound of our jumpsuits brushing as we nervously shift around.

Peeta leaves to use the bathroom and Gale mooches off claiming that he needs to be alone.

I leave Katniss, who looks more comfortable petting one of her horses than she would if I was to drag her along with me, and make my way around the hall where groups of victors, tributes and mentors alike stand chatting in groups.

I find the group where Haymitch's friend Chaff stands talking to Cecilia from 8 and Johanna Mason from 7.

Luckily for me I get along with Chaff, because for people who are unfamiliar with him, his sense of humour can be a little difficult to appreciate.

"Ah, Abernathy Jr!" he exclaims embracing me. He likes to call me that. Because he thinks I am secretly related to Haymitch because we're 'too alike' apparently.  
>"Leave some leg for the rest of us!" he chuckles to himself looking me over, "your stylist didn't have to worry about using the paint on look on you did they?"<p>

I roll my eyes, Chaff seems to be incapable of giving compliments that aren't in some way overstepping boundaries. But you just have to accept it.

"Hmm," I reply, "you just wait." I say, thinking about the, possibly controversial, effect my suit will have once turned on. Then I turn to the other people in the conversation and say hi to Cecilia, whom I know from seeing her as a mentor each year, and introduce myself to Johanna who I find is actually quite talkative, quite unlike how I had imagined her.

I manage to excuse myself from the conversation I had started and turn to go back to the chariots when I see that someone else has decided that Katniss maybe wouldn't be best left alone.

"Alright Odair, don't scare her before we've even gone in now." I call as I stride over to the stupidly good looking legend from district four, who is about five millimetres away from kissing her.

Both heads snap towards me and Finnick grins "Just swapping knitting patterns." he says matter-of-factly gesturing between him and Katniss.

"That's best left for the stylists don't you think?" I retort, raising an eyebrow and moving to stand next to Katniss.

Finnick looks to the space behind us, "Oh, Peeta is coming," He turns to Katniss, "I'm sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He says, in such a voice that I cannot tell whether he is being serious or mocking, "I'll see you around." He blankly shoots at me and saunters back to his own chariot.

Katniss gives me a searching look but I don't offer any answer and let her and Peeta chat. I realise that, apart from my three 'teammates' Finnick will be the hardest victor... tribute, to kill. Because sadly, we are friends. And I am glad of his blank attitude when talking to me.

I lean my head against one of the coal-black horses' warm neck and scratch it's back subconsciously until Gale finally shows up and the four of us all stand, staring at each other, not really knowing what to do.

"Cinna and Portia were here last year." Katniss says, looking around the hanger, "But it doesn't look like they're showing tonight." The music begins and we all decide that going ahead without the stylists would be a good idea.

The general reaction to the four of us switching on our costumes consists of alot of pointing and hushed chatter, as the other tributes take in district twelve's next move.

Katniss and Peeta at last year's chariot ride slowly move up my right arm and I watch them, captivated as they burn brightly, literally outshining the rest of their competitors. This year, I think, we're almost providing their spotlight.

We start to move towards the door, right behind Katniss and Peeta, at the back. The pitch black heads of our horses bobbing up and down in unison.

"Are we going for the 'united approach'?" Gale asks me, quietly, gesturing at the chariot in front, where Katniss and Peeta have just joined hands.

I glare up at him, "Do you _feel_ like we're 'united'?" I snap, putting an edge on every one of my words.

He grumbles, "Calm it Lucifer." And I glare at him again. 'Lucifer' was a nickname that Gale had used for about a month when we were back in district twelve.

The seam was generally full of pleasant people, despite the appalling conditions of their lives, but there was one really horrid old man, that owned a butcher's shop 'back in the day', but in his old age lived off of his son and his son's wife. The old man owned a sheep, called Lucifer, and this sheep had the most matted, shaggy fur and was always covered in mud. Once I fell in a mud puddle, and according to Gale, breathless from laughing, I looked like Lucifer. The stupid nickname stuck.

I look at his wrist and watch Haymitch crouching over Maysilee as she dies. She wasn't even his friend beforehand. Just an arena-made ally. It might be important to have Gale on my team, have someone to watch out for and to watch out for me... Now doesn't _that_ sound awfully familiar?

Glancing down at his outstretched arm again as we near the door, I see a particularly violent moment from the third arena I participated in- an arena built like an abandoned city, with apartment buildings and rundown shops and train lines. I remember watching from the top of a telegraph pole as one of an allied pairing from district three turned on her partner and sliced his face in two with a bit of broken glass before finishing him by throwing him onto a fallen, sparking power line.

I'll think about it.

"Hmm." I say as I quickly ball up my slowly opening fist and replace it back at my side as we roll out of the doors into the track.

We perform brilliantly, keeping ourselves well above it all. People scream our names and we ignore them, people scream insults and we ignore them, people scream in awe and we ignore them, people scream in disgust and we ignore them.

We pause in front of President Snow and I look at the screens which display us zoomed in. Right at that moment my entire jumpsuit turns a deep, blood red and Gale's a bright white. Slowly the colours change and as I watch the screens I see that it looks as though our suits are blending. The bleeding colour streaks seem to have their own plans however and begin to form intricate little roses all over our bodies, just like those that Snow so often sports.

The President speaks quickly and sends us on our way to the training centre and as we move; our suits quickly revert back to their previous tribute to the districts.

"That was quite something love." Says Haymitch to me as he approaches us with Chaff and Seeder, who embraces Katniss on sight leaving Peeta and Gale standing, looking pleased.

"We really had to work hard didn't we?" I reply, grinning wearily at him and watching the exchange between Seeder and Katniss when suddenly Chaff steps forward and plants a great big kiss, right on her lips. Gale and Peeta look affronted, and so does Katniss as she jumps back in shock. Haymitch and Chaff split their sides with laughter as we are hoarded towards an open elevator by some capitol guards.

Peeta and Katniss are still holding hands as they walk, and I can't help but wonder how they have managed to keep such a front up, when in a few days they'll be in the arena playing against each other.

A leafy headdress flies past my feet as we walk towards an elevator and Johanna Mason, district 7, scoots up to walk level with us all.

"Isn't my costume awful?" She groans as she tugs at the tree costume she is wearing and looks Gale over, "My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her." She continues to say to Katniss, "Wish I'd got Cinna. You look fantastic."

The two girls chat for a while until we reach the elevator and Johanna begins to completely take off her costume, despite the looks of alarm coming from Katniss.

We are then shoved into the same elevator as her, and she happily chats to Peeta, as Gale, I and Katniss – red as a beetroot – try to avert our eyes from her bare body. Sometimes she stares at Gale's chest and comments on whatever act she sees floating past on his costume.

When we finally reach the seventh floor she leaves, grinning at us all and the whole elevator full seems to breathe a silent breath of relief, at floor eleven Chaff and Seeder leave and at floor twelve Peeta and Katniss step out to change out of their costumes before dinner and say "See you in a minute." Before the doors close.

There is complete silence.

The humming of the elevator mechanisms finally get to me and I blurt out, "How are they?"

"Mother's had another one." He says. "A girl, Posy." He sees my questioning look and quickly corrects me "She was pregnant when Father died." He speaks with no emotion and it is clear to me that he thinks that this is the way to go about it. Distancing himself from everyone, his own family, in order to make everything less painful.

"I bet she's lovely." I say, as we reach the top floor and step out, onto the plush carpet of the hallway.

"She is, got very ill a few years back though, measles. Mother had to work overtime to pay for treatment. I was in charge of feeding everyone then, all the money was going on her."

"And my Mother?" I ask, as we reach the room that says 'Male' on the door, above a small picture of a bed. "I couldn't find her at the reaping, but it's been so long. I don't even think I know what she looks like anymore..." I finish, looking up at him. Gale has taken on an uncomfortable look, one that I have seen before. On the face of the old Avox man who delivered that letter on the day my father was blown up.

"Gale..." I say, a warning tone to my voice.

He crosses his arms. "She's ill... Very ill... Got a few months says Katniss' mum. It's one of those time bomb sort of things." He says, hurriedly, looking everywhere except for my eyes as he speaks.

I let out a big breath and swallow hard before replying, "Well..." I start, "I suppose, it won't be much different... After all. I wasn't betting on coming out alive this time any way... And I haven't seen her in so long..." My voice begins to waver so I quickly cough and say, "I'll see you down at dinner, I need to get out of this thing." Tugging at the neck of my jumpsuit as I speak and striding along the corridor to the next room, which says 'Adescare' on the door.

So I was right, it _was_ a fix.

* * *

><p>As we wait at the dinner table for Effie and Haymitch to show up Gale and I chuckle at an argument Katniss and Peeta are having about Katniss being 'pure'. I fiddle with my spoon, remembering the company I had when I last had a meal in the training centre and how much I would like to find another one of those pictures and lodge another spoon, firmly in its centre.<p>

The pair finally show up, smiling about something or other. But as they sit down, Haymitch's face quickly becomes stony.

I look in the direction of his gaze, past Katniss and to the doorway where two avox's are currently entering the room.

"Looks like they've got you a matched set this year." Says Effie, as though the two humans were nothing more than mere salt and pepper pots.

Katniss shoots an almost unnoticeable smile at the read headed girl as she is handed a drink, and Gale is staring into space, looking as though he is trying to catch hold of something with his mind. The look of concentration on his face is quite remarkable.

The male Avox, who currently has his back turned towards me as he picks up a wine bottle from a table sporting a wine bucket, also has red hair, curly, messy red hair.

I turn back to the table, still wondering why Haymitch's face had now turned from one of displeasure, to one of silent rage.

A tap on my shoulder notifies me first of the male Avox, offering me wine. As I decline, I look up to his face to give him a smile, and drop my spoon with a loud clatter as I clap my hand to my mouth.

Our male Avox is a young peacekeeper from twelve, one I know from being at reapings and victory tours.

Our male Avox is the young peacekeeper who always joked with me about Effie's latest hairstyle or the Capitol's latest trends.

Our male Avox is the young peacekeeper who I had grown to be quite fond of over my visits.

Our male Avox is the young peacekeeper who I had shared a kiss with at the back of the justice building on the last victory tour.

Our male Avox is Darius.

**A/N - Right, so last chapter I mentioned my other fic 'Partners in Crime' and I just wanted to say that, supposedly, I now have a plan. And that plan is that I am going to write and upload alternative chapters so next I hope to update PiC and then I'll update this one again. **

**It will not last, I can tell you that now. Because I am a lazy human being. **

**But I thought you should know anyway. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – Holy bekfhlakhjaljfh I AM BACK. Okay, that was unnecessary because I told you that there would be an order and there wasn't and then everything went to poo. BUT. Bet is still alive, she didn't die between dinner and... this chapter, but fair warning, this chapter is very... what's the word... Angsty? **_**I think... **_**Everything is very like, *raaaaaaawwww depressing* so just be ready for it.**

**I'm sure it'll all be happy smiles again once Bet's in the arena killing off innocent people for no reason at all... Hah. Hah. **

**Dear dear... I can tell I was tired when I wrote that... My apologies. **

**Umm... Hi right back at you, to my anonymous reviewer. That sounds so much more mysterious than it is... **

**And thank you to geekchic101 and Hannah-Hurricane for following/alerting :)**

**Okay bye.**

"Is everything alright Bet?" Effie chirps, frowning at my discarded spoon.

Haymitch kicks me in the shin, hard, under the table snapping me back so I can reply to her.

Coughing, I mould my features into a smile, "Yeah, everything's fine Effie. Just choking on... air." I reply, jokingly, and pick up my spoon, forcing myself not to look at any of my fellow tributes.

None of them have made a noise but I would bet that their insides are squirming just the same as mine, my whole meal has suddenly become extremely unappetising.

Darius must have upset the Capitol somehow in order for him to be here... And now I think about it, I could imagine that happening quite easily. Darius was the sort of person who would say something, or do something that would easily get him stuck here just for a joke. Never could I remember talking to him without trying to hush him up for saying something a bit risqué. Come to think of it, I didn't exactly help... I'm not supposed to have any sort of relationship with anyone that the Capitol does not throw my way, let alone with someone who was supposed to keep me isolated, secure and under careful watch whilst I was roaming around publicly.

What if someone had seen us? What if someone knew? What if it was my fault?

I kick myself mentally. I have no proof that it was my fault, and even if it was, it would just add to the long list of things I want to right before I traipse into the arena to face certain death.

* * *

><p>We watch the re-cap of the opening ceremonies in a morose silence, with the only occasional offhand comments coming from Effie.<p>

I sit, curled up on the squashy sofa beside Klaive, and although he questioningly raises an eyebrow at me as I brush off Gale's apologetic glances, full of regret for telling me about my Mother's ill health. It seems that the two of us have come to an unspoken agreement to not ask questions. What I want to tell him, I will tell him in good time.

The programme feels more and more perverse as it moves on and more District Tributes appear in their chariots. Old, respected people like the Tributes from 3, stuffed into tight, luminous two piece get ups, which looked like gym clothes, but were studded with hundreds of tiny flickering lights.  
>The emaciated bodies of the morphling addicts made to look even smaller in huge, bizarrely shaped pieces of metal. Bent and smoothed to almost fit to the bodies of the two, making them look like extremely thin vehicles.<p>

I almost feel guilty when Peeta and Katniss appear, closely followed by Gale and I, and the noise of the crowd crescendo's in to an uproar. We look beautiful. Beautiful, and strong, and powerful. Just as we should for a fight to the death.

The reaction of the crowd to the changing colours on mine and Gale's suits causes a sharp intake of breath from Effie and an excited look to sweep over Haymitch's face.

At least one third of the silent crowd, awaiting President Snow's speech, fall in to their seats as they register the relevance of the roses depicted on our bodies. Hands clapped to mouths, lovers gripping each other's hands and parents telling off children who had begun to clap at the 'pretty colours'.

I obviously hadn't noticed this small, but significant change in the uniformity of the capitol citizens whilst I was standing in the chariot, pretending to be terrified of the '_oh so __intimidating_' president. But seeing it now sends shivers of electric excitement, accompanied with a hint of fear, up and down my spine.

The second the programme is over Katniss stands up, thanks Cinna and leaves. With Effie calling out faint reminders to her as she strides out of the room.

A few seconds after Katniss has left, Cinna, Portia, Klaive and Yvelle all congratulate the three of us on our performances and leave quickly, obviously realising that tonight is not a night for a casual conversation.

The five of us, Gale, Peeta, Effie, Haymitch and I, all sit in complete silence for a minute or two until Haymitch coughs and says "Effie, isn't there something you could be doing now, I don't know... Wig pruning? Or something?"

Effie almost jumps out of her seat, thrilled to have an excuse for her to leave, no matter how offensively she would normally have taken it, "Of course I do," She mutters, "How silly of me, wig... pruning." And bustles out of the room in a hurry.

The second I hear the doors at the end of the hallway slam I look Haymitch dead in the eye and say in a horrified voice, "Darius."

That is all I say, because that it all I _can_ say. Because that is all I have been thinking for the past hour that we have been watching the procession.

Darius.

Haymitch makes a gruff sort of noise and reaches down the side of the sofa for the bottle of brandy that sits there, but quickly stops at a glare from Peeta and runs his hands through his hair.

"Look, sweetheart-"He begins but is cut off by Gale.

"He helped me." He says, his voice breaking in due to lack of use, "stopped Thread, that's the new peacekeeper," He quickly asides to me, "Stopped him whipping me."

I put my face in my hands and try to block out the surrounding conversation that I started. It is all too horrible and I want out. I want to leave now. I don't want to play this game any longer.

Peeta clears his throat, "I'm gonna turn in." He says, sounding defeated, "I don't want to think about this anymore. Night."

He also leaves the room. It's like no-one can bear to be in the company of anyone else right now, everyone is far too terrified of what the other may think or do. Too scared of having people to care about because caring only gets you killed or... mutilated.

Gale stands once Peeta has left.

"Oh let me guess," Comes Haymitch's sarcastic drool, "You're going to bed too?" Safe in the knowledge that Peeta is no longer around to stop him, Haymitch seizes the brandy and pours himself a glass.

Gale looks at him, "We're going into an arena in less than a week." He says in a low voice, "Going in there, expected to kill each other. That old woman from four, the morphlings, Peeta, Katniss, Bet. Forgive me if I'm not feeling too sorry for Darius right now, at least he's got a shot at being _alive_ for his next birthday." With this, he too, leaves and the slam of the door as he marches off down the corridor makes me jump slightly.

Only now do I let myself cry.

I haven't cried in so long and I know I am breaking all of my rules, especially letting Haymitch see it, but I really let go.

I am full on sobbing as I curl up and put my face on my knees, not only for Darius. But for all of this. All of the victors, all of the tributes, all of the years that I have spent living in this building with no-one but people on their way to death or mental illness for company.

I breathe deeply and rub my face to get rid of the tears as I sit up. My hands immediately turn black from whatever make-up Klaive put on my eyes to make me look so brilliant tonight and I only have to guess that my face will be the same way.

Haymitch downs the last of his glass of brandy and shifts over towards me, he does his best to wipe the black smudges from my cheeks and then pours himself another glass of brandy. This was over-affectionate for him.

"I know you and Darius had...have? A... thing going on." He says slowly as he replaces the glass stopper of the bottle. "And I know how awful it is..." He continues, a slight nostalgic tone to his voice. "When I came out of the games." Haymitch says with the tone of someone starting a story, a story that has a tragic ending. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs and holding the glass in clasped hands. "About two weeks after I won, they called me to the Capitol for a meeting with a guy called Selthus, Tobias Selthus. He sat me down, and asked me whether I had planned to use the forcefield as a weapon right from the start of the games.  
>"Well, you've watched the tapes, you know what a cocky little shit I was. I was arrogant, so I replied <em>'No, but it made you lot look pretty stupid huh?'<em>" Haymitch shakes his head and takes a large swig of the brandy.  
>"Soon as I got back to twelve I realised why I'd actually been taken away. My Mother, my brother and my girl. All dead. All laying there," He laughs helplessly and somewhat manically, "on my bed<em>. My bloody bed<em>. Like they were sleeping, but they weren't... they weren't..."  
>He stops talking whilst he downs the rest of his glass and pours and finishes another one too, "I know how you feel. Probably know worse."<p>

He goes to pour himself another glass of brandy and I let him, until his hands shake so violently that I have to take the bottle for fear he would drop and smash it. I also prise the glass from his fingers, drink the small amount that managed to make it into the glass and place it on the table.

"Come here man," I say, my voice hoarse, holding out my arms. "You're a mess."

"Oh, you can talk." Haymitch replies and goes to hug me, but the brandy seems to just be taking its toll and he sort of falls, landing propped up on my shoulder.

I lean on him to counteract the weight and for a while we sit, as is becoming a trend in this place, in silence, the smell of brandy offending my senses and tempting his.

"You know you need to speak to him right?" Haymitch slurs, the vibrations of him speaking move against my cheek, which is almost fused with his shoulder. "Darius." He says, just to point out the obvious.

"Mmm..." I reply, curling my feet up onto the sofa next to me so I am, in effect using Haymitch as a cushion. "Anyway," I mutter, "When did you become the counselling teenage girl?"

His only reply to this is another five minutes of silence, his breathing slow and the stench of brandy on his occasional belch making my nose wrinkle.

After a while I begin to drift off quite comfortably to sleep when he finally speaks. "You don't see me as a father figure do you?"

I frown, "Why the _hell_ would you think that?" I ask. Ok, Haymitch was the only older man, apart from my father, that I knew well, who hadn't locked me up or been in some way my... 'owner'. But Haymitch was my friend, and one of my best ones at that. Never a father figure.

"Thank God for that." He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed again. "Because that would be weird, because we're friends right?"

"Yeah," I mumble, my eyes heavy with tiredness. "We're friends."

"Yeah..." Haymitch does an extremely accurate impression of my mumble and for another few seconds says nothing until. "Bet,"

"Mm."

"If you die in this arena, I'll kill you."

"Ok."

And with that, both of us fall asleep gradually, slumped up against each other. Both ready to hide our new fears behind our torn down and rebuilt brave faces. Neither ready for anything to happen again other than sleep.

* * *

><p>The first thing I am aware of in the morning is Effie's shrill voice commanding us to "Get up this instant and make yourselves presentable for goodness sake!"<p>

There is a huge belch from somewhere near my lower back and then I hear Haymitch groan, "Alright love, alright, ok ok we'll just be f...five m..minutes." Then there is a loud snore and a thud on my leg.

"You are a mess, the pair of you! Now sit up right now and get in your showers! You smell repulsive!" Effie nags again.

"You awake sunshine?" Haymitch sarcastically addresses me and digs his knee into my shoulders.

I groan, but this obviously isn't enough for Haymitch, who rolls into me which causes the pair of us to land on the floor in a rather painful, vaguely brandy smelling heap.

Once both of us are sitting next to each other, Haymitch squinting at the light and me de-tangling my hair from a button on his jacket, Effie begins on us again.

"For goodness sake, pull," She hit Haymitch around the head with a flowery fan she was holding, "your-" Now she hit me with it, "-selves" Haymitch, "Together!" Me.

"Awake." Both Haymitch and I mumble simultaneously.

Effie seems to visibly calm now and takes a breath before speaking again. "Right, Haymitch, off to your room, shower and clean up. Back here in ten minutes. Bet, you too, and then you need to be here in ten minutes because you're training today, and Haymitch wants to talk to you all about a plan... If he remembers anything."

"You first." I elbow Haymitch to get up, and to my surprise he doesn't fight he just goes.

Even Effie is surprised by this but it doesn't last for long, "You too Bet. Today is your chance to make friends, you don't want to smell like the bar cart."

As I use the sofa to pull myself up I shrug, "I dunno," I mutter, "Might help with Chaff."

This joke doesn't go unnoticed by Effie, and she makes disapproving noise. "Just get in the shower." She chivvies me towards the door and points up the hallway, "Ten minutes."

I step into the elevator and look into the mirror as I travel upwards. I really am a complete mess. The clothes that I changed into yesterday after the procession are patchy with black makeup and my hair is back to its usual tangled state, but only on one side. The other is still braided how Klaive had styled it for the parade. I wipe the black remnants from my face and lean my forehead against the mirror.

When the elevator _'dings' _and the doors slide open with a grinding sound a female voice almost sneers, "Floor thirteen, Bet Roburn and Gale Hawthorne." Just another thing that makes my blood boil, that they've personalised the damn elevators.

An Avox stands outside the doors already with a towel folded over his arm, as if to rub salt into the wounds caused by Darius' appearence. As I step out of the doors he moves to lead me to my room.

"No, don't." I start, then rewind. "Sorry, there's no need to help. Thanks though." I take the towel from his arm and make my way to my room.

* * *

><p>As I step into the dining room I notice that I am not the last to arrive.<p>

Peeta, Gale and I are all dressed in the same outfit. A tight fitting, long sleeved t-shirt with leather elbow pads, and some tight fit sport trousers, also with leather knee pads. Yet another way to make the older victors look ridiculous.

Only seconds after I sit down Katniss steps through the door and flops into a chair.

"You're late." Haymitch growls at her. He is fiddling with something on his wrist, a golden bracelet with a pattern of flames. I faintly recalled something that Effie mentioned at the first meal we had as tributes after Peeta had used my tactic of hair compliments. _'I had it especially done to match Katniss' pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe we'll find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something and Bet and Gale..."  
><em>The bracelet must be Haymitch's contribution. I look to Gale and see that he has a gold band or some sort of material around his right bicep which he keeps tugging at.

Katniss makes an overly false apologetic expression, "Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares kept me up half the night." Her, otherwise excellent, attempt at hostility is let down by the break in her voice at the last words.

Haymitch glares are her, then glances at me, then leans back into his chair. "Alright, never mind. Today, in training, you've got two jobs." He looks to Katniss and Peeta, "One, stay in love."

Katniss rolls her eyes, "Obviously."

Haymitch ignores her, "And two, makes some friends." He says, tapping the table with the side of his hand as he speaks.

"Why?" I ask, at exactly the same time that Katniss says.

"No."

We both look to each other, each regarding the other with a slight look of distaste for reasons which I can't quite understand.

He clears his throat to respond but Effie quickly cuts across with a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh Bet I completely forgot. You can see Haymitch's bangle and Gale's band, Peeta has his ankle band-" Here Peeta smiles softly at Effie. "And obviously Katniss has her pin." Katniss pokes at an egg with her fork.

Effie rifles through a bag beside her chair and pulls out a thin length of leather, plaited with gold ribbons. She grabs my left hand, puts it on the table and wraps the braid around my bony wrist whilst talking, "This is your token." She points out and secures the bracelet with a small, but secure knot after wrapping it around a few times.

Now she leans back and draws the corners of her mouth up, "Now we look like a real team."

I tug at the band with a frown on my face, but actually, I don't think it will be that bad. If it pleases Effie then it's worth it.

"Right." Haymitch interrupts, "I'll answer you both at the same time." He says referring back to what Katniss and I said before Effie spoke. "The fact of the matter is, that the victors all know each other. They know each other's strengths, weaknesses and most of them are friends, they'll have ready made alliances. So the first one's they're going to target are you.

"Bet, you're probably better off than the other three, they'll respect that you're an old hand and a good few of them know you anyway. You're the key to helping this lot into alliances. Peeta, you have to help too. You're the friendly face, you have a way with your words. Use them. Make these two look desirable, they'll need your help."

"No we won't." Katniss and Gale simultaneously retort defensively. Everyone looks to them.

Katniss continues speaking, "So, you want us to join the careers? Finnick, Brutus and Enobaria?"

Haymitch shakes his head and sips his morning tea as though it is a glass of champagne, "No. Granted, Finnick isn't to be ruled out, I know you're friends, Bet, so he'll be a pretty easy one to win over. No I'm talking free choice. Everyone here is a victor in their own right, all are experienced killers. Of course, you're gonna want some muscle in there, but you're all in good shape so I'd get some brains... I'd suggest Seeder and Chaff." He says with a short pause, "The important thing is to make sure you're _all_ in the same alliance."

Effie seems eager to get us down to the gym but Haymitch prohibits her from taking us there herself. We are the youngest tributes, but we don't want to be seen as children. Effie taking us there would seem like we need babysitting.

In the elevator down, Gale suggests that instead of all targeting the same tributes we should split up and befriend a wider group, cover more ground. And then, we can afford to be picky over which ones to form an alliance with.

This sounds like a pretty solid plan so we all agree, just as the elevator _'pings' _and the voice announces _"Underground Gymnasium, all tributes exit here."_

And so it begins.

**A/N – I just thought I'd put an aside here, because it was something I thought of whilst I was writing. Some of the scenes have alot of text taken from the book purely because that is quite a difficult thing to twist whilst keeping the circumstances fundamentally the same. The scene at breakfast got me thinking about it, because for half of the scene I used the pre written dialogue with my own wording around it, but then for the alliance plan I made my own interpretations.**

**So, I suppose what I wanted to ask you is; what do you think of that? Do you mind when I use chunks of dialogue from the books? Or do you prefer me to make my own interpretations rather than using it?**

**If you have time to spend on giving me feedback on this then I'll be extremely grateful :)**

**Okay, I'm out.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N - Hello people, sorry about the time between the chapters... again... but school waits for no fic... Anyway, just to quickly thank dancergirl16161 for following this story and that is all. **

**Enjoy :)**

I curse under my breath as I drop one of the throwing knives on my foot and it bounces across the floor. I am _not _doing a good job of impressing Gloss so far, and Cashmere has already given up on me after she witnessed me moving towards the deadly berries station.

"You throw it like this sweetie." Gloss laughed. As much as he looks like a career and has the brute strength and natural cockiness that comes with it, him and his sister are actually pretty polite. Gloss has proved to have quite a sarcastic sense of humour. Even so, I am still failing to impress him enough for him to want to join any pack of mine. He drew his arm back and hurled the knife at the target. Granted, it wasn't the most accurate shot, only hitting the 8 mark. But the knife was embedded right to the handle in the board.

I take this as my chance to show my knife throwing skills from aiming at Snow's head all these years. Quickly I stand in the place he has moved from to watch me and ready myself.

I block out the noise and the fact that I can almost feel the arrogance in Gloss' stare burning into me and I throw the knife.

As the knife makes a dull thud and wedges perfectly in the bull's-eye I stand back and cross my arms. "Now _that's _how you throw it honey." I say, and turn to walk to the adjacent station – archery.

As I pick up a bow I hear a smarmy chuckle from behind the rack of arrows. I walk to the rack as whoever chuckled shoots and completely misses the target they are aiming for but manages a 9 on a target two to the left.

"Gloss is still watching you." Finnick Odair notes as he steps forward regarding his awful shooting with relative amusement, "_Sweetie._" He adds, grinning and handing me an arrow.

"Not shooting straight anymore Finnick?" I tease as I pull back the string of the bow and shoot a 7.

"I don't think that's allowed." He replies, a cockiness in his voice that I must admit I have missed since our last proper conversation. Not just brief meeting like in the hanger before the procession. He shoots another arrow which this time hits the desired target, scoring a 2.

I shoot another arrow myself and this time the arrow finds the 9 mark. "Is he still watching?" I ask under my breath, in the pretence of checking the fastenings of the string on my bow.

"He stopped when you shot that last arrow." Finnick replies, "He's gone back to trying to look scary." As he says this, I hear Gloss let out a yell and hear a thud as another knife hits a target.

Finnick goes to shoot another arrow but before the arrow is propelled it flops from his grip and he swears under his breath.  
>"There's a trident over there," I point out, as I pick it up, "Why don't you go and use that?"<p>

Finnick laughs, "Wouldn't want everyone knowing my strengths now would we?" He says, the irony in his statement unbearable. "Although," He continues, pondering, "I might go and supervise your friend Katniss over there in knot tying." He suggests, "She looks a bit frustrated."

I look over to where Finnick is pointing, as he said, Katniss is sitting on the ground, seemingly becoming more and more stressed over one particular know that she keeps trying and trying to tie.

"Knock yourself out." I say, and jokingly tap his backside with the arrow as he walks away.

So far, I am pretty sure Gloss would join an alliance with me if I could show him a little bit more of what I can do. The only trouble is getting him to like Peeta, Katniss and Gale.

Speaking of which...

As I am currently on my own at the archery station I see no harm in having a good look at the tributes in their prime.

Peeta is at the spear throwing station with Brutus and Chaff, both seem relatively impressed with him and all three are talking. Chaff and Peeta seemingly more than Brutus but talking nonetheless.  
>Katniss is sitting looking at Finnick with a confused look on her face as he effortlessly fashions a noose from a length of rope and pretends to hang himself.<br>Gale is at the sword fighting station with little old Mags. He stops after taking the head off of a mannequin and watches in disbelief as Mags, as frail as she looks, giving her all and going flat out and giving one of the training partner's a good run for his money.  
>Johanna is sitting at the wrestling station, completely naked again, eyeing Gale whilst she covers her body in oil, readying herself to fight a bewildered looking trainer.<p>

I move towards the camouflaging station to fill the time remaining before the lunch break, I enjoy the art of camouflage and how it is possible to make yourself into something else. Also, there are two tributes already at the station so I decide that it might be worth my while to try and get on their good side's while I can.  
>But as I approach I can see that this won't be the pair that I want to have in my alliance. From across the gym, the pair looked like lean, athletic type people. But as I move closer I can see that they are infact the frail morphlings from 5, both smearing paint onto their bodies and faces.<p>

I frown, not because of the pitiful state of the pair, but because of something I have never noticed. How terrible my eyesight is.

In last year's games I could see for miles, and everything was as crisp and clear as the skyline of the Capitol. But now, as I reach the camouflage station and look back across the gym everything beyond the closest stations has a blurry quality. I can't tell Johanna from Seeder, can't tell Peeta from Brutus, which is almost alarming to me.

Maybe it had something to do with the fall I took last year when I got caught up in the explosion when Katniss destroyed the career's supplies. A crate containing several sleeping bags had rocketed at me in my hiding spot beneath a low hanging tree branch and broken on my face, rendering me unconscious for a good few hours.

Could that alter eyesight?

Maybe the surgery I had been through after the games had a bad effect... Whilst sitting in the tree, trying to block out the sounds of the 'finale' I had been picking at the tree bark with a knife I had... Inherited, and a bit of bark had splintered while I flicked it and had landed in my eyes.  
>It wasn't that serious, but maybe there was something in there that the Capitol surgeons wanted out or maybe they thought it was a good time for a few alterations...<p>

I couldn't remember. But I'll have to get onto someone about this, I have no idea what they could do though.

In the meantime, I set myself up in a corner with a bed of moss which I lay my feet on. I then try to paint my feet to resemble it, it doesn't work.

* * *

><p>The food this year, is a selection of different meats which are supposedly from each of the districts. It's a bit of a joke really. Who's ever heard of a bison coming from district twelve? Or an emu living in two?<p>

I help myself to a Kangaroo sausage, supposedly from seven, and some peanut butter sandwiches – thank goodness some things are normal - and make my way over to a table containing Chaff, Johanna and Gale.

"Mind if I join?" I ask, making clear that this wasn't so much a query of permission as an announcement of my arrival, by sliding my tray in next to Gale's across from Chaff and Johanna.

At my arrival, Chaff looks delighted, Johanna bristles and Gale looks apprehensive. "Of course we don't mind," Chaff chuckles heartily, "How nice to be in the company of two young ladies," He continues in an almost nostalgic tone, "Of course, it's obviously not _me _who's got you over here." He finishes, chortling loudly to himself before I can understand what he means.

I pull my hair over to one side of my head to keep it out of the way as I eat, "Of course it's you that's brought the crowds Chaff, who else would it be?" I reply, twigging that he's talking about Gale who looks uncomfortable under Johanna's constant stare.

Before Chaff can reply Johanna cuts in, "So did you two know each other before you reaped him?"

At the suddenness of the question I choke slightly on my sandwich and have to take a drink before I can answer, but there is no need.

"Yes," Gale replies quickly, "Yes, Bet and I are- _were_ best friends... Before she was taken here." He quickly recovers from a slip.

What does he mean, _'are'_? I mean, I'd _had_ hoped we were still friends, hoped that even though I _was _in the Capitol for the majority of our later lives we would still call ourselves best friends whenever I had been let out.

But that had all changed as soon as I reaped him. As soon as he asked Haymitch why he thought we wouldn't kill each other. As soon as he wasn't _Gale_ anymore.

Johanna smirks, "So you're not getting on well here then?" she asks in a suggestive tone.

"What do you mean by that?" I retort, almost accusingly.

She seems to revel in my reaction, "Is the thought of imminent death playing too hard on your lovesick soul?"

I put down my drink without taking a sip, "_My_ _lovesick soul?" _I repeat, a bewildered expression across my face. "Seven years stuck in the same room kinda dulls down your emotional spectrum." I finished my bewildered expression quickly turning to one of anger.

It's almost true.

Apart from Darius and Haymitch, I haven't made any friends since I left twelve and I stopped really missing Gale and even my mother after the first two years.

Johanna suppresses her smirk pretty well and finishes her drink. She doesn't reply to my small outburst, but her expression is almost smug.

I eat the rest of my lunch without much event. I don't really talk much when Katniss and Peeta come along and sit with us, I suppose that we'll all have to talk about allies with Haymitch later anyway so there's no point starting the conversation now, besides, Chaff and Johanna don't need to know our plans.

* * *

><p>After lunch, we all head back to the Gym where the same things go on.<p>

I spend about half an hour with Enobaria at the spear throwing station but she doesn't seem at all interested in even making eye contact with me, let alone conversation to lead to alliance.  
>Using the spear throwing as almost a way of watching the progress of the other three I notice that the people drawing the most attention currently are Peeta, who holds steady conversation with nearly everyone he comes to, and Gale, who seems to have Johanna's attention on him 9 times out of 10 when I look over, and is also being watched by a number of the other tributes as he whittles a sort of spear out of a tree branch.<p>

The rest of the afternoon passes in the same format. I move to the fishing station to see what they can teach me over there, Katniss joins me and so do Finnick and Mags briefly, just to introduce Mags and give us some extra tips on hook making.  
>I decide that sword fighting would be a nice way for me to finish off the day. My speciality comes in the form of a sword, when I hold the weapon it is no longer a piece of metal, it is an extension of my skeleton. Part of me.<p>

I don't want to draw attention to myself as I work, so I take on a dummy right in the corner of the gym. There is an excellent view of all of the stations whilst I begin to carve up the plastic form. Soon enough I begin to tire of just chopping up mannequins and one of the trainers comes over to have a fight with me. It doesn't last long before his sword is flying out of his hand across the room and I have him pinned down with my blade to his neck.

"White flag's up." I hear him choke sheepishly and I release him from beneath me and help him up. He rubs his neck, and comments on my technique and how he wouldn't like the other contestant's odds if there was a sword fight in the arena.

My attention is drawn across the room by a dull thud. Katniss is standing at the archery station, shooting what look like fake birds that the trainer is hurling into the air.  
>I look around, most of the victors have completely abandoned their stations and are just watching her skills. And when she shoots five birds out of the sky in one round, even Brutus gives up trying to be subtle and stands looking impressed as she whips arrow after arrow across her back, loads and fires again and again and again.<p>

After training, all four of us crash out in the television room.

"I am knackered." Peeta lets out as he collapses into the corner of the sofa.

"Same." Katniss says as she sits beside him.

I lean against the arm of the chair and put my feet across Gale's legs as I lay across the couch, "So, who do we want as allies?" I cast out the question as a conversation opener. This is the first time the four of us have been together to talk all day, so there's no better time to discuss the matter than now.

"I want Mags and Beetee and Wiress." Katniss announces, brushing off the looks she was receiving from Peeta beside her.

"They're District 3 right?" Gale asks, absent minded-ly stroking my ankle with his thumb as he speaks.

"Mmm," Peeta replies, "They're something of a joke to the other victors."

Katniss bristles, "They're extremely smart." She answers back, but doesn't elaborate on this.

"I want Finnick." I add to the mix. Katniss and Gale look at me with looks of almost disgust on their faces, whilst Peeta looks quietly approving.

"Why?" Gale asks, still looking put out.

"Well I'm not going against him," I state, "And he's strong, smart and liked by the Capitol residents. Makes him a pretty good ally by my standards."

"And it'll please Haymitch." Peeta adds, backing me up.

Gale and Katniss are obviously very far from happy but they say no more about it, instead Gale pipes up.

"Please no-one suggest Johanna." He groans and the rest of us let out a small laugh.

"She seems to have a certain fondness for you," Katniss says, almost grudgingly.

"Well I don't like her." I say, not forgetting the conversation we had in the lunch hall.

"Only because she knows about your deep undying love for me." Gale teases.

"That must be it." I reply, sarcastically while Peeta and Katniss laugh.

The evening whiles away, just being talked by minute by minute. The last few foreseeable hours of our lives slipping through all of our fingers while we laugh and argue over the most trivial of things.

Katniss, Peeta and Gale all leave once Haymitch and Effie show up for dinner but I am not hungry so I go for a wander around the centre, while they eat and discuss the fact that Brutus and many of the other victors all want Katniss in their alliances.

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><p>As I listen to the gears of the elevator whirring while I travel back up from the ground floor for the second time purely because I could, I look down through the glass floor and count the seconds before things start to become blurry. One... Two... Three... Fo- no, wait, that potted plant now looks like green jelly.<p>

I slide down the wall until I am sitting on the floor. I'm going to need something to sort this out, I can't go into the arena with eyesight this poor, I'll probably end up killing everything but tributes.

As the elevator reaches floor three and the doors open I get a glimpse of Beetee standing in the corridor opposite the doors, wiping the lenses of his glasses before putting them back on his face. He doesn't realise I am here, doesn't realise that he is one of the people that Katniss desperately wants to ally with her in the arena if she has to join with anyone. He also doesn't realise that he has just made me realise my own immense stupidity. Glasses.

At floor eight a stylist steps into the lift and holds out his hand towards me.

"Get up." He orders, and I take his hand to help myself up.

"You're a tribute," He says, still in a sharp tone, "But you need to be thinking like a victor. And sitting down there feeling sorry for yourself is the right attitude to have if you're planning on meeting your maker on the first day."

I raise my eyebrows at him. He, like Beetee is wearing glasses. Not small, wired frames like the ones Beetee has but big extravagant purple framed glasses with an animal print on the brow, made from fur.

"You're not supposed to help me." I tell him and he shrugs.

"It's not like anyone who cares is going to be alive much longer." He replies, and it is now that I really, truly appreciate Klaive.

"Well, if we're taking that attitude" I continue, "Do you mind telling me where I go to get some glasses made for me? It's a strange request I know but I thought that, seeing as yours are so... nice... you might be able to tell me?" I ask, going through my usual habit of needing to explain my every move.

He looks rather taken aback, "Just ask your stylist of course." He explains as if it is the most obvious thing.

We reach floor ten as I go to reply and the doors open to reveal another stylist waiting outside the doors, leaning against the wall with a single rose in his hand.

"My exit." Eight says as Ten smiles at him. He nods to me, and then the doors close.

I smile to myself as I reach floor thirteen where Gale and I sleep, with Klaive and Yvelle and whoever else fills the rooms. At least I know two people who will actually be happy tonight.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N – HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope 2013 is absolutely wonderful for every one of you.  
>Now, this chapter is pretty much a massive pile of fluff. I'm a sucker for fluff and it turns out that when I write it, I go all out. So I apologise now if you're not a big fan of it. <strong>

**Also, this chapter doesn't progress very far in terms of the story, more in terms of relationships.**

**Lastly, thank you to marythalia for following, and enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Only in my dreams. **

_"Just ask your stylist of course." _Idiot. Of course that's who to ask. Why did you not think of that?

It isn't too late, and I suppose that Klaive might be awake.

The elevator 'dings' as I reach floor thirteen and my answer meets me before I go searching.

"Good evening." Klaive looks up from the book he is drawing in. He is sitting on the floor of the hallway just across from the elevator, looking out of the glass chute at the scenery behind.

"Evening." I mumble back in reply, "Do you mind?" I ask, pointing to the floor next to him.

"Not at all."

I lean against the wall and slide down until my backside reaches the plush carpet. Just as I bend my legs up the elevator doors close and there is a slight 'whoosing' sound as it begins its journey down the chute to whoever called it.

I turn my head to look at Klaive's sketches but he quickly snaps the book shut, so contrasting to his previous slow manner that it makes me jump.

"You don't want to go spoiling your interview outfit for yourself now do you?" He asks, a slight chuckle at the end of his sentence.

I make a small sound in reply but don't actually speak, I am far too busy thinking about a question that has just popped into my head.

"How come you and Yvelle, and Cinna and Portia are so different to the other stylists?" I blurt out, as I try to figure out how best to word that exact question.

"I'm guessing you mean empathetic and not completely self absorbed?" Klaive asks, a small smirk creeping up his slightly stubbly cheeks.

"Well..." I go to protest but then realise he is right.

"Yeah."

He chuckles yet again, "I can't answer that. However, I can tell you that Cinna and Portia personally requested Yvelle and I. We run all of our ideas through them, to make sure the four of you make the best impression you can."

Again, I don't reply with words, just make a small noise. Klaive doesn't seem to mind though, from what I've gathered, he'd tell me if he needed more of an answer.

Then I move on to my second question, this one I can word myself.

"I was wondering, well I had a thought," Or I thought I could word it...  
>"I mean, in training yesterday I was sword fighting and I couldn't-"<p>

"See properly?"

"Yes..."

"And you were wondering whether I could get you some glasses?"

"Yes... How-"

"The hours before I first met you, when you were cleaned, preened and waxed. It was more, much more than a mere 'rebuffing' service."

I go to speak, but Klaive holds a hand up to silence me, as he has done many times before.

"Whilst you were there, Vondis, Leahopra ad Silciena did a full medical examination on you. Naturally this revealed the weakness in your eyes and meant that I could address the problem with no worry." He pauses, "Now you can speak."

"_They_ were smart enough to carry out a full medical examination?" Is the only thing I say.

"Bet, we're in the Capitol. A pig could carry out a full medical examination; all it would have to do is push a button." He explains, grinning as he imagines the image he just created.

Klaive holds up his hand once more before I can speak, and he gets to his feet, walking backwards towards his room. Making sure that I stay put. I snort with laughter when he falls right over a small table and he makes a sharp movement with his hand to shut me up instantly.

So I sit and wait and fight the inclination to rifle through his sketchbook until he rushes out of his room, still holding up his hand, clutching a small box and makes his way back to me avoiding the table this time.

As soon as he falls to the floor, because there is literally no other way to describe how he moves, he holds the box in front of him and takes off the lid.  
>He has now put his hand down, but there is no need for me to speak as he lifts the large square frames holding the slightly curved glass and hands them to me.<p>

The frames of the glasses are a very dark emerald green colour, so dark that without looking carefully, they appear black. They aren't block green however, there are many other colours swirling with the green, making the simple plastic seem alive.

I stand up and walk to the wall by the elevator doors, looking down through the window, everything in a blur. Then I step back and put on the glasses, look down again.

I gasp, although I am not sure why. The sight I am greeted with is one of the two stylists that I met earlier, saying their goodbyes. But I can make out their heads, which is a huge difference.

"You're going to have to wear them all the time to get used to them." Klaive says, standing up behind me. "They need to almost be a part of you by the time you're in the arena."

I nod silently and turn around to face him, "Thank you." There isn't really much to say, because I don't want to seem stupid, but I want him to know how grateful I am.

So I leave it at _thank you_ and then once he says, "Goodnight." I reply with the same.

Although I am not going to bed.

Tonight seems like a perfect night to test my 'new' eyesight, and I have just the place.

Never have I been more grateful that our floor is on the top of the building as the roof is only a staircase away.

* * *

><p>The cold bites into me as I open the door at the bottom of the stairs and I draw my arms closer around me, pulling the sleeves of the loose fitting cardigan I found in my closet, over my hands as I make my way up the metal steps.<p>

As I reach the top of the staircase I realise that I won't be alone tonight, there is a tall figure at the edge of the roof, standing on the top of one of the walls with its arms spread wide, almost as if they are going to jump. I would have been worried if I didn't know about the forcefield around the edges.

"It won't work." I call as I stroll towards the person, there is next to no light shining from behind me, but from the front there are hundreds of beams shining their way up from the Capitol's streets, making the person less than ten feet away from me, a silhouette even so.

There is no reply.

"I'm telling you, you can't do it. I've tried." I say again matter of fact-ly, stopping where I am, about two metres away from the figure. Trying to get a response from them.

"What's got under your skin so much that you're considering it then?" I ask, they'll have to reply to a question, surely...

Still no sound.

I assume the person might be a mentor, "Had enough of raising kids for slaughter?" I ask, "Realised that the Games are just a hideous crime?"

Again, no reply.

"Speak to me God damn it!" I shout unsure of why I have suddenly snapped, striding towards the person and pulling them down off of the wall and around to face me. Then my face falls and I let go of his arm immediately.

"Darius I-" His finger lays across my lips, cutting me off and I look up at his face as he shakes his head gently, smiling ever so slightly.

Tentatively, I move my left hand up to his freckled cheek, feeling the cold of his skin, contrasting with the warmth of my own, he must have been out here for a while. I continue to move my hand up, into his curly hair which I rub between my fingers absent mindedly whilst never once moving my stare from his.

Darius then moves, he moves his hand from my mouth to my eyes and I briefly wonder what he is doing, but then he tugs at my glasses and pulls them off of my face, furrowing his brow at them.

"I'm going blind." I say, jokingly, and Darius laughs. Or at least, I think that's what the noise was.

The noise he makes is a strangled sort of noise, but it doesn't sound like he is in pain, or angry. It does sound, in a strange sense, happy.

Darius immediately recoils, stepping back and clapping his hands over his mouth, my glasses swaying violently between his right index finger and thumb, a horrified look sweeping over his face.

He stands, in the shadow of a small generator, slightly hunched, with his hands still clasped over his mouth, and he doesn't seem like he is going to move for a while.

Slowly I step towards him, almost like one would approach a lion, or werewolf, but replacing the fear, with sadness and longing.

When I reach him I put both of my hands, one either side of his waist, and carefully move back into the light, so that I can see his face so beautiful, but in so much pain.

Once we are back in the light, I find two chairs which are kept by the garden and bring them over, close to the wall. We sit, and Darius fiddles with my glasses between his hands, he looks up every once in a while, but never brings his eyes up far enough to meet mine.

I stand up, and walk to the wall. Leaning over and not being able to see anything. "Would you actually have done it?" I ask, breaking what seems like an age of silence. It is a simple yes or no question, so he can answer it.

Darius looks up at me and folds the temples of my glasses in before clearly shaking his head. Then he stands and walks to stand next to me, his warmth welcome. He lifts his hand and points at me, a quizzical expression on his face _"You?"_

I nod, a solemn expression across my features. "I'll tell you now how grateful I am that this forcefield exists." I explain, "It was three years ago, I was an idiot."

He turns to face me at this, and opens his arms. This is what I have really wanted since I stepped on to the roof, and I can only hope him the same. I wrap my long arms right around his shoulders, lacing the fingers of my right hand into the back of his hair as he puts his strong limbs around my waist and pulls me even closer to him so that there is not even room for the very tiniest of small ones.

We stay like this for a length of time that no-one is measuring, because measuring this time would be counting down until the moment had to pass, and neither of us want this moment to pass.

It did pass however, like every moment will inevitably do. But not all moments pass to make way for better ones. All the same, this one did.

As Darius pulls away from me, looking down at my face and gently wipes my cheeks for they were wet with tears that I have been unable to hold back, before putting his hand back around my waist, smiling and shaking his head jokingly.

I lean up to him, and rest my forehead against his as a single tear falls from his own eyes. I grin, "Hypocrite." I whisper with a slight chuckle, feeling his warm breath as he lets out the tiniest of laughs.

Then gradually, my face becomes serious, as does Darius', and I can feel his breath quickening slightly, alike to my own.  
>Usually, it is Darius who makes the first move. He has always been the more forward one out of the two of us. But today he seems shy, almost reluctant.<p>

I close the gap myself with only the lightest of brushes, to see how he might react. But he soon returns, much harder than I had initiated. My fingers knot in to his hair just like they always do and his pull on the back of my cardigan as he grabs at whatever he can.

It is messy, both of us trying to gain more and more of the other through a mere kiss. Without thinking, I lick his parted lips, almost like asking for permission to enter his mouth. He does not seem to object, so I do what I have done many a time before and begin to explore the inside of his mouth with my tongue.

The realisation sweeps over me in an instant and I freeze momentarily, bringing my face down, breaking the contact and burying my head in Darius' shoulder.

I had not been thinking, and as I had slipped my tongue inside Darius' mouth, there was nothing there. No fight like there usually was, no playful poking. No tongue.

"I'm sorry." I mumble into his shoulder, screwing up my eyes, "I'm so sorry."

He grabs me by the shoulders and softly but firmly pushes me away from him so that I am looking straight at him, his hands on my shoulders. Then he smiles at me, shaking his head in a joking way before he roughly pulls me back to him and our lips collide once more.

I think this is his way of saying _"It's ok." _But I don't stop to think about it. At this moment, I can't think of much else other than the feeling of Darius' lips on mine, the feeling of his hands knotting themselves in my hair and his hair winding around my fingers. The sensation of being so close to him that I could almost feel his heart beating through his sweater.

If I could stay in this moment forever, I most certainly would.


	11. Chapter 11

****EDIT - It must have been _really _bloody late when I wrote this because for some reason I wrote that Clark Kent was Batman... *Hides in shame* All is restored now so we can move on****

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><p><strong>AN- Sooooo yes hello I am not dead I apologise but I AM SO BAD AT UPDATING OMG**

***existential crisis over* **

**ha**

**But firstly I shall - very lately - respond to the review from last chapter and that response is : HERE YOU GO**

**ALSO T-HANK-YOU to SunWillRise2340 for favouriting you little custard cream **

**So this is a shorter chapter than the other novel length ones I'm used to writing because I have literally had the worst writer's block on this fic AND my other one -_- So that's an excuse for my absence this time. heh. eheh. nope.**

**And then read the A/N that shall undoubtedly be at the bottom of this story, because it will have a question that I would love you to answer if you would like to. **

**BUT NOW I SHALL SAY GOODBYE AND HAVE A NICE READ.**

**Haha you thought I was going to let you read the chapter haha nope DISCLAIMER FIRST PEOPLE - **

**I do not own the Hunger Games. Not now. Not tomorrow. Maybe later. No not later either.**

**now read**

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><p>The nights since the one I spent with Darius have each been alike to the first. Although, those times, without the moments when we would both shy away from each other due to Darius' being made an Avox.<p>

The interviews are tonight. And right now I am sitting in prep with Vondis pulling out stray hairs from my body with a pair of tweezers. It is early, _very _early. Katniss and Peeta are excused from being mentored in etiquette by Haymitch and Effie but Gale and I are not, having never done this before. I am not looking forward to it.

"Looking forward to your session with Effie in a few hours?" Vondis asks as he runs the tweezers under a tap spouting water with a slight purple tinge.

"I can't wait." I reply flatly, and he lets out an over enthusiastic and loud laugh. This startled me on the first occasion that it happened, but now I have learned to expect it more often than it should happen so I am spared the pain of jolting out of fright into whatever instrument is at my skin.

"I'll give you some tips," He says light-heartedly, "Help make it as short as possible." He mumbles through gritted teeth in a joking fashion. He then puts the tweezers down and roots around in a tray underneath the surface I am laid on, bringing up a small instrument with a rough looking pad on the end which spins around when he pushes in a button on the end, making a soft whirring sound.

"Back straight, shoulders back, head up and boobs forward." The rough pad tickles as it brushes my leg, "Best advice I've ever been given." Vondis says with a wink and another loud laugh.

I don't reply, simply lay my head back and wait for the primping to be over.

"Back straight!" Effie chirps at me as I creep around the dining room with a bone china plate on my head, "More confidence!"

The plate smashes as it hits the floor just like the previous twelve, and Effie picks another up and places it in the place of the last.  
>This has been going on for an hour now, and I'm not sure that Effie is going to realise that not much has, or will change.<p>

"Smile! You want them to like you, not pity you!"

_Pity is better than hatred _I can't help but think, but instead of speaking I contort my features into a smile and lengthen my back slowly so as not to drop the plate.

After walking like this for ten minutes Effie finally sighs in relief, takes the plate from my head and collapses into a chair whilst calling for an Avox to clear away the smashed china. "Lunchtime, I think." She says in a breathy voice, as though she is the one who has been walking back and forth under constant commands.

* * *

><p>After lunch I am sent to spend an hour with Haymitch before I meet with Klaive to get dressed for the interview. This hour is to decide on how I am to be portraying myself, Katniss, Peeta and Gale at the interview tonight. I take a very deep breath before I step around the door to the television room, readying all of my best retorts for this time as Haymitch has not left me alone with the jibes since I got my glasses.<p>

"Katniss and Peeta are still going with their 'unrequited love' act." He announces as soon as I enter the television room where he sits. "We need you and Gale to completely contrast them." He takes a swig of whatever spirit he has in a glass beside him, but doesn't seem drunk at the moment.

"I was thinking-" He goes to continue, but I interrupt him.

"Wait, 'unrequited love' _act_?" I ask incredulously, eyebrows raising the roof.

The realisation sweeps over Haymitch's face in an instant, mixed with almost a sadness. "Sit down Clark Kent."

I roll my eyes at the new dig at my glasses as I sink into the chair. "You know, I think you might have caught the only other person in a four hundred kilometre radius that gets that reference."

There was once a time where Haymitch had become infatuated with, what I thought was an ancient cult. He would send me centuries old comics, printed on paper not shown on screens. And he would obsess over one particular character 'Clark Kent' or more over his alter ego 'Superman'.

This had occupied my spare time for a while once.

"I forgot you've grown up in this place." Haymitch mumbles, bringing me back to the conversation at hand, "With the Capitol lot. Least we know it's believable now."

I shake my head, "But they're getting married!" I exclaim, without anything else crossing my mind.

"That was a ploy," Haymitch says, "For the victory tour, to prevent a full scale uprising."

I swallow nothing, stare at the air for about three seconds and then turn to him and continue, "Right. Well now that I actually know my teammates let's get on with it."

Haymitch coughs and shakes his hand, "Absolutely, right so I was thinking that you could just go right ahead with a sarcastic, arrogant, not likeable but intriguing angle. How does that sound?"

I raise my eyebrows at him, "Just like you then?"

He shifts in his chair, although not uncomfortably, "I've been thinking on Chaff's constant 'observations' about us two, and I thought we should play on it. It might work, and it's what you're good at..."

"Watch it." I cut him off jokingly.

"Just like that, you're not needed here anymore, go and find Klaive; he hasn't got wine to drink." Haymitch shoos me out of the room, pouring himself a glass from a black bottle by the side of his chair.

* * *

><p>I find Klaive after the hour I supposedly spent with Haymitch is up, and he shows me into the same room that we were shown our procession costumes in.<p>

"I've been given instructions, as has Yvelle, to make you, and in her case Gale, as forgettable as possible." He says, as I jump into the armchair which swivels slightly.

"But Haymitch just told me to be intriguing." I reply, dragging out the word 'intriguing' as if the whole thing is a joke, which it almost is to me mind now.

"And intriguing you shall be." He clicks his fingers and the wood panelling of the wall slides back to reveal the place every garment is kept once the stylists have rendered it 'complete'.

I have to admit the reaction from me is a little less enthusiastic than Klaive was probably expecting.

The dress is black, knee length, made of a material that is thick on the body, but thins as it reaches the skirt. Where the skirt meets the body there are two large cuts from the sides, which reveal the skin beneath.

As the mannequin slowly rotates so that I can view the entire garment I notice that the back of the dress is a little more interesting. The whole dress has a cut covering the entire length of the centre of the back. This effectively means that without the ribbons which lace the two sides together, the dress could be laid out from end to end as just a piece of material. The skirt also has ribbons which lace it together from the small of the back downwards.

"No pictures this time then?" I ask, turning to Klaive to grin at him while he shakes his head.

"It serves the purpose of making you look intriguing, like you mean business and also absolutely beautiful I am sure of it." He explains, motioning for me to sit down. "It also doesn't make a huge statement, so you'll be left to the background on anything but your personality."

"It looks like I mean business alright. Like, fighting a law suit." I reply, not overly taken with this dress.

"Well, lawyers can be sexy." He raises, whilst arching one eyebrow and reclining in his chair.

"Lawyers are boring sexy. Like, 'I've got five minutes in this bathroom stall if you're game' sexy."

I let out a loud burst of laughter at my comment and it's immaturity.

"My Mother is a lawyer." Klaive states, looking at me whilst ruffling his own hair.

Shit.

"Ah... Well that's... Sorry." I mutter, fighting to keep the grin from returning to my face.

"Don't be, she's a bitch." He flips off, standing up immediately and motioning for myself to do the same. "Get it on, and call me back in so I can take final adjustment notes." He flicks my nose and glides out of the room like the nymph-like creature he is.

I have to admit, once the dress is on I begin to fall in love with it.

The material on the body feels so comfortable it could be a sweater, but looks so stiff you wouldn't want to move in it if you could watch yourself. The sleeves are my favourite part however, long and tight fitting right up to the wrists, completely opaque yet I can't feel them there at all.

"You done yet?" Klaive raps on the door.

"I can't do it up." I call back, "Probably should have thought that one out Einstein."

The door swishes open and Klaive springs in, "What's an einstein?" He asks as he begins to re-lace the ribbons through the eyelets, "And why did you unlace the whole thing?"

I let my mouth drop slightly before realising that not everybody has had the same amount of spare time as I have over the years, and not everybody is as clued up in foreign earth history as I am. "Famous genius." I reply, deciding not to go into detail about Albert Einstein. "And I didn't, my leg did."

"Sometimes I wonder how you get dressed each day."

"It makes for traumatic viewing."

"I weep for those who have endured it." Klaive shoots back with a certain nonchalance to his voice, motioning for me to move my arms around to check the fit.

After about half an hour of various measurements and movements and posing and note taking, Klaive seems happy with himself.

"Perfect as usual." He mutters with a satisfied tone to his words. Then he turns to face me, looking at me like an adult would a two year old. "Can you undress yourself without dying or worse damaging the dress?"

"I think I can manage." I laugh, feeling around my back for the end of the ribbon.

"I can call Darius if you like," Klaive teases as he nears the door, "He'd be happy to help."

The sound of the shoe hitting the wall reverberates loudly and I can only just hear Klaive's laughter behind the door.

"Those throwing skills will do you well soon enough." I hear him say between laughs, and I can't help but join in.

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><p><strong>AN - SO THAT WAS REAL FLUFFY AND I DIDN'T EVEN REALISE OOPS.**

**oh well you read it and that's what I love about you**

**yes you**

**anyway, that **REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTION** I need to ask you is this - u gon laf k - 'I have sketches of the dress I described for Bet's interview and I was wondering whether you would like to see them to give you a better picture of the outfit or whether I should be quiet and start writing another chapter for you chipmunks**

**"haha" you're all thinking "she's never gonna write another chapter this side of April." **

**u right**

**probably**

**This is BAD publicity A stop now**

**stop writing now okay bye**

**Review for me? **

**I will release a baby mole in to the wild if you review**

**and baby moles are cute **

**okay really bye now**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - WELL haven't I been busy? No. **

**Actually it's been what, less than a month? Two months? Since I updated either one of my stories, that's a record speed for me... heh...**

**ANYWAY thank you to SunWillRise2340 for favouriting :)**

**ANd get ready for a whole lot of depressing stuff right aboooooout**

**Disclaimer - I don't own the Hunger Games**

**now**

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><p>At dinner, an hour before we are set to get dressed for the interviews, there is an unusually relaxed atmosphere compared to that which we are used to; it is quite refreshing to see Gale and Peeta joking with each other about the training sessions and Katniss and Portia trying to figure out what the arena might be this year. Nobody is snapping at anyone which is nice, albeit a little weird. Even Effie is treating the Avox's with somewhat heightened respect, I think that this may have something to do with the fact that Darius is serving us and even Effie must have heard about things, everyone else seems to know.<br>I'm still not comfortable with the situation with Darius, but there is little I can do about it other than to just try and pretend that it is not him whilst I sit in the room being waited on.

Effie lets out a small squeal a while later, pointing to the delicate watch that she wears on her left wrist.

"Quick quick to your prep teams, it's time to get ready, hurry!" She chokes out after seemingly only half swallowing whatever food was in her mouth.

As everyone begins to stand and the Avox's move in to clear up, Haymitch, who is sitting beside me, taps my leg and motions with his hand for me to slow down. After the others have all left he tells Klaive to go ahead and that I will be along to change shortly.

The Avox's clear out and Haymitch closes the sliding door so that he can be quite sure that nobody can hear us.

"What the hell are you-"

"Shut up and listen" He cuts me up and pushes me shoulder so that I sit back down in my chair, "There is a plan, a plan come up with by me and some other people who I won't name because the less you know about this the better, to break you out of the arena."

I know why he made me sit down.

"The victors from the districts we can trust, those being 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 and 11 are all going to know small details about it but none of them the whole plan. I'm not telling Gale about this, neither am I telling Peeta or Katniss because once we break you out, you and whoever else remains, the capitol will definitely be in to capture anyone that they can. And Katniss and Peeta will be at the top of that list. I'm not telling Gale because he'll only mess things up, as harsh as that may sound, he doesn't trust anyone, not even you."

Haymitch stops for breath and I open my mouth to interject, but he cuts me off again.

"We don't have time for you to talk. Now, you don't need to know everything because you may also be on the capitol's priority list of people to grab first but you're going to know more than you should for that position anyway. During the games we are communicating with you through parachutes with gifts of bread. Finnick also knows about the bread code and I may tell some others but you'll know if I do. You should know that each district has its own type of bread correct?"

He pauses for just long enough for me to nod my head.

"And you know which bread comes from which district?"

I hesitate for a second, and then nod slowly sure that I could remember each recipe.

"The district that the bread comes from indicates which day the break out will be taking place. The number of rolls means the hour of the rescue. Got it?"

I frown and nod even slower than before.

"It will make sense when the others are beside you with their own knowledge. They each have their own bits of information which make sense to each person as far as they need to for this to run smoothly, your job is to make sure that it does. Do anything that you have to in order for this to be a success; even if that means killing people you wouldn't have or putting yourself in more danger than necessary at first glance."

"Nice to know you've got my best interests at heart." I say, meaning it to be a joke but lacking in any tone but serious.

"That's where the next bit comes in." Haymitch says, his voice sticking in his throat as he prepares himself for whatever he is about to say, "We- the people involved- have decided that it will be a necessary precaution to ask each of our trusted tributes to be willing to sacrifice their own lives if it means that Katniss will walk alive from the arena."

I don't know if he was expecting this to come as a shock to me, but the only thing I felt was confirmation. I had already had a subconscious feeling that this would be something that was asked of me in this game, but I hadn't actually realised it until right at this moment.

Again I nod, just once. "She's the mockingjay." I reply, my voice steady.

"She is indeed." Haymitch replies, as I stand up.

Quickly he grabs my wrist and pulls me into a tight hug, holding my head to his shoulder with one of his hands as the other pulls me so close I think I might suffocate.

"Now remember," I can feel the vibrations of his voice as his chin is rested on the top of my head, "Be a sarky little shit."

* * *

><p>As I arrive backstage the other tributes are all standing in their outfits and talking in the groups that formed at all of the other times we have met. I move immediately over to Finnick and Mags who appear to be in deep conversation but in reality Finnick is nodding and Mags is garbling.<p>

"Looking sharp, Seaweed." I quip as I approach their conversation.

Finnick turns his head and looks me over, "I must say I preferred the skin-tight suit." He grins, "What's with the funeral gear?"

"I'm looking _forgettable_." I reply, putting the word in quotation marks.

"Well next to Peeta and Katniss with their twelve's in training we're all gonna have a pretty hard time being remembered." He remarks, "What did you get again?"

"A four." I mumble, turning my head so that I am talking into the hair that falls over my shoulder.

"Sorry?" Finnick asks again, teasing.

"A four, I got a four." I say right to his face as his grin lengthens.

"How terrible were you exactly?"

"I sat on the floor and tied some knots; it's not like they need showing that I can fight, they've had a long enough time to look."

"Even Mags did better than you didn't you Mags?" He asks the little old lady, who gives the widest smile I have ever seen and lets out a laugh.

Finnick rolls the sleeves of his shirt over, making himself seem much more casual the second his stylist leaves. "When did you get the extra pair of eyes?"

I sighed, apparently Haymitch wasn't alone in his glasses jibes. "After training," I explain, "Something happened to my eyes, I'm guessing when they were doing surgery or whatever after the last games, and now I need these."

"They're actually not that bad," He concludes after staring at them for a small while, "I can learn to like them if-"

But at that moment he stops because behind me, Katniss and Peeta have just entered, followed by Gale.

Gale is dressed in a suit that seems to be made of a dark blue velvet; it seems that the angle the stylists have decided for him is definitely to play on his looks, as everything he is wearing is a compliment to his face, his physique, his skin colour, his hair and just about everything else. But Gale's good looks are not the reason everyone has stopped talking; not even Johanna has given him so much as a glance.

Katniss is dressed in a wedding dress. There is no other way of interpreting her outfit. A low cut, pearl encrusted, very fussy, white dress which looks absolutely beautiful on her. This beauty however, is marred by the dreadfulness of the situation from the perspective of everyone who isn't clued up to the fact that the whole 'marriage' between her and Peeta is fake.

"I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing." Finnick comments, sounding in no small part disgusted.

"He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him," Katniss snaps quickly, making sure that Cinna cannot be criticised for this.

Peeta too, is dressed in a tuxedo, the sort someone from the Capitol would wear to get married. And this makes everything sickeningly worse.

Cashmere makes some comment which I miss, because I am trying to remember how I would feel if I didn't have any knowledge of the pretence of the whole thing.  
>I snap back as a hand is placed on my exposed waist and I look to see Finnick guiding me to where everyone is lining up to go onto the stage. He stands in his place next to Mags while I continue up the line until I reach Gale.<p>

"You look nice." He greets me, his face failing to compliment his words.

"Right back at you." I reply, brushing some form of fluff from his shoulder.

We are before Peeta and Katniss in the queue for some reason, which is strange, because I had always thought of Gale and I as being treated like tributes from a thirteenth district, coming after the rest of them.

I turn to grin at Katniss sympathetically, "If it helps," I say, "You look very beautiful." She nods at me and takes Peeta's hand, who clears his throat.

"You look beautiful too Peeta." I add, laughing slightly.

The crowds out at the front begin to scream and I realise that Cashmere and Gloss must have taken the lead on to the stage.

As a last minute decision before we move into the lights I grab Gale's elbow and hold it as we walk across the stage to our seats, to wait for our turn to speak.

For the most part of the interviews I sit and stare at my boots, or play with the sleeve of Gale's suit jacket while his arm is rested on the arm of my chair. But all the while, I listen intently to the words of each victor as they speak, waves of realisation hitting me as their words, carefully crafted, bring to light the backstabbing and betrayal that most of them feel at this situation.

Obviously none of them are stupid enough to outright say that they are angry, but aside from Brutus and Enobaria and the Morphlings, everyone manages to put such an amazing interview out, which each manages to highlight the government and Snow as the ones responsible and capable of changing the situation.

The crowd is in uproar by the time it is my turn to go, and I fear that I won't even be heard. But strangely, as my name is called, the place falls so silent that my walk to the interview chair feels like earthquakes every time the heels of my boots hit the floor.

Caesar meets me and pulls me into an embrace before letting me sit in the large chair, and beginning the interview.

"Well I must say," He chuckles heartily, "You're a hell of a lot taller than you look on screen." He continues to laugh. "And a damn sight more attractive too." He adds as a muttered aside to the audience, rousing a few wolf whistles; I suppose he is trying to be witty.

I smile slightly at him, "Well, watching me grow up has just been part of everyday life for the past few years has it not?" I ask, deciding that if I'm going to do the victors justice, I might as well go big or go home.

Caesar clears his throat, "I suppose you're right." He agrees light heartedly. "Well, you've certainly got the attention of your audience tonight." He waves his arm to the crowd, "This is the quietest they've been all night."

I don't know whether he expects me to thank the audience, or somehow play up to this, but I merely curl one corner of my mouth upwards and satisfy myself by mentally insulting them for their complete lack of respect for me every other day of my imprisonment.

"Now, Bet." Caesar addresses me, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. "Seven years and all of your games yet this is the first time you're meeting me." He begins, "It's almost a crime." The audience laughs as he flashes them one of his famous grins.

"Well, a lot of crimes go unpunished Caesar." I reply, leaning back in my own chair and almost imitating his pose, although with a much greater dose of nonchalance, to keep up the image Haymitch requested.

Caesar nods as the audience laughs nervously and lets his grin slide now and leans in, resting his elbows on his knees, serious conversation visible on the tip of his tongue. "So, all of these arena's that you have been a part of must have prepared you pretty well for what you've yet to face in this one," he begins, looking me dead in the eyes now, almost as though he wants to make me believe that we are the only two people here. "Tell me, if you will, just how you've managed to survive for this long?"

I stare at him for a few seconds, as if asking whether he can actually be serious, then I go straight in with a reply, "There's a lot of footage that you can watch I believe, maybe that would help you figure out how I'm still alive?"

Deadly silence from the audience.

He laughs nervously, "I merely wondered whether you had a specific strategy for each game or whether you just went with the flow of things?"

"Well I can see how you could think that Caesar, I mean, I have enough spare time to create plans."

This seems to be quite enough for Caesar to handle on this topic, as he quickly coughs into his fist and starts to ask from a different angle.

"Now, you, I hear rumours are quite the little social butterfly." He begins a new topic in a restored light hearted tone, "It certainly wouldn't be too far to say that you are quite friendly with a number of this year's tributes especially one Mr Odair who you are often seen with and around at social events at some of the Capitol's most exclusive venues. How is this connection to your opponents going to affect your performance in the game, if at all?" Caesar asked and before answering this question I sit up slowly in my chair.

"I can't imagine it could change much," I reply, "I'll kill if I need to and I'll spare who I want to. At least there's still one part of myself under my own control."

At my last words, the buzzer for the end of my interview sounds and Caesar's momentary shocked expression quickly changes to his trademark grin as he stands, hugs me again, motions for me to go back to my other chair.

As I sit down, Caesar calls Gale's name and I quickly squeeze his hand as he stands slowly, straightens his suit and strides over to the chair, a charming smile across his features.

Caesar grasps Gale's hand coolly and shakes it as if greeting an old friend while the crowd cheers, as if their previous uproar and silence had not even happened.

I look down the row of victors and catch the eye of Johanna, she nods at me and smiles in a way that I know is genuine. I must have done what I intended to do in the interview.

As the noise from the crowd dies down Gale settles himself in the chair I have vacated and waits for his interview to begin.

"Mr Hawthorne you are looking just marvellous tonight," Caesar begins, "Isn't he looking ravishing ladies and gentlemen?" Tumultuous applause and thousands of screams echo around the place.

"I can just tell," Caesar tells Gale, "That if you win this game, you will be a star in the Capitol."

Gale smiles dazzlingly and looks down as if he is bashful, "Why thank you Caesar," he says, "although being a Capitol star hasn't worked out too well for all the ones I've met." Gale finishes, and looks over to the rest of the victors sitting either side of me.

The audience begins another low rumble.

Caesar looks down, "A sad thing that is," he nods in a tone of despair that he is able to turn on like a tap.

"Now, Gale, do you mind if I call you Gale? I feel we have a connection," He addresses Gale in an obvious attempt to gain the audience back from their next dip. Gale waves his hand and smiles again, obviously the front Haymitch had decided for him was to just not be himself, at any cost.

"Gale, you are the new guy in this game, you've not been in an arena before, yet you are a favourite among the Capitol residents even so." Caesar admits as some of the women in the audience scream.

"So tell me, has the cousin of the girl on fire got the same fighting spirit as his relative?"

I keep a completely blank face as Caesar refers to Gale as Katniss' cousin, this must again have been another part of a ploy that Haymitch had failed to tell me about.

Gale makes a face as if he is being asked to kiss a jellyfish and Caesar laughs, "I've got that and more of what Katniss has brought you." He announces, and turns his head straight to the camera focused on him.

There is not a single doubt in my mind that Gale intends this solely for President Snow, and I think that there are a lot of other people that have realised this as well, because the low rumbling in the crowd has just got louder, and then the buzzer goes for the end of Gale's interview, much sooner than it would have.

Caesar shakes Gale's hand and he walks back over to his chair, on my other side, Chaff leans across me and shakes Gale's hand with his good one, nodding at him reassuringly. This makes Gale smile, genuinely, rather than he has been as a front.

Throughout Katniss' interview the audience's rumble becomes a sea of shouts, and this becomes an uproar of screams and sobs as she twirls and her dress changes. At this point I find myself gripping Gale's arm so tightly that he has to pull my hand from him as I have dug my nails into his skin.

As Katniss' dress changes from her wedding dress to a black one covered in feathers, it hits me that Cinna is in danger that is second to none of that which any of us face as tributes; for Cinna has turned Katniss into a mockingjay, and I can almost hear Snow issuing a death warrant for him right now.

The audience does not quieten down as Peeta moves to the chair, after helping Katniss into her own. The famous banter between Caesar and Peeta is thrown back and forth as they joke about the subject of Katniss' dress and fire.

As Caesar moves into the serious territory everyone is hooked. The audience is silent and every word is being hung on to. Peeta knows which strings to pull and he has every single audience member hanging like a marionette as he swiftly moves through the topic of the wedding, dropping a secret that he and Katniss had actually already been unofficially married in a secret toasting ceremony back in twelve.  
>Caesar begins to ask him questions about the situation surrounding their choices, and he drives the conversation in the perfect direction for Peeta to drop his next bomb.<p>

"I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially." Peeta says, discussing the timing of the ceremony.

"Surely even a brief time is better than no time?" Caesar asks, seemingly bewildered by Peeta's logic.

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," Peeta pauses and wipes his hand over his mouth in a regretful manner, "if it weren't for the baby."

The audience explodes. Almost in slow motion it seems, for it starts as only a few people, but sure enough it soon builds up into a tumult of cries and accusations of injustice, which even Caesar Flickerman cannot tame.

Peeta and Caesar seemingly say their goodbyes and Peeta comes back to the line, crying. He takes a hold of Katniss' hand and she takes Gale's, who takes mine as I grasp Chaff's stump. This continues down the line of victors and the entire audience gets louder than I even thought was possible.

We've done it now. I'm not even sure we'll survive our way to the arena.

The stage lights go off and I feel Chaff tugged from my grasp as I cling onto Gale with both hands, my stupidly irrational fear of the dark only known to myself and Finnick Odair kicking right in now.

I concentrate on the ground but I'm not sure how this can help as I feel Gale guiding me forwards and I am certain to trip if I don't focus, so I look ahead again, breathing away my uneasiness and watching as Finnick runs to us almost desperately, shouting something about the dark and pointing wildly at me, Johanna is with him and they are both trying to get to the four of us as we are shoved into an elevator and they are taken into another.

Peeta and Katniss talk hurriedly and I don't try to interrupt as it is undoubtedly important.

We all wait at the top, expecting the others to arrive but it is only Haymitch that does.

Peeta immediately questions him about the events that are going on downstairs and we all listen intently as Haymitch assures us that Snow would never dream of cancelling the games, not that we didn't know that already.

He also tells us that everyone's been ordered home.

"Then we'll never see Effie again." Peeta says regretfully, "You'll give her our thanks."

Katniss makes sure that it is much more than that, something special.

And then there is silence, and I can feel the tears already, but I will wait until it is acceptable to let them out.

Peeta and Katniss say solemn goodbyes, with a businesslike tone and Haymitch making dead sure that Katniss knows what he expects of her.

Gale then steps forward and shakes hands with Haymitch, saying that it was nice to have known him properly, even for such a short while.

I stand with my hands behind my back in silence and Haymitch does the same.

"I need a shower." Peeta announces, and Katniss follows him along the corridor. Gale mutters something about speaking to me in a minute and walks off to the lift to go to our floor.

Once the lift has finished whirring Haymitch opens his arms but I shake my head.

"I'll cry." I say, standing for a second before tears begin to stream down my face anyway.

"What was that?" Haymitch asks, a slight chuckle to his words.

I step forward and punch him on the shoulder lightly, unsure why I did.

He catches my wrist and pulls me in to hug him, letting go after a short while and I can feel his breaths getting deeper, almost as though he is trying to prevent himself from crying.

"Haymitch Abernathy." I laugh, "Didn't know you had it in you."

Haymitch points at me and half grins, "Just remember," he warns me, "if you die in this arena," he grabs both of my shoulders, "I'll kill you."

* * *

><p>I take the elevator up to the thirteenth floor and catch Gale waiting at the top.<p>

"I guess this is the last time we're going to see each other properly then." He says gruffly, fiddling with his jacket sleeve.

"I guess." I reply, walking over to him.

"That thing I said, when I was reaped, about not being afraid to kill you," he is so close I can feel his breath on my face, "it was total crap."

I raise my arms and pull him into a hug. After a while I swallow and say in a hoarse voice, "Thank you."

"What for?" His equally hoarse voice replies.

"Saving my life last year, twice apparently." I laugh slightly at the last part as I have no idea still what it was.

"Right you are Lucifer." He pulls back. "See you tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." I repeat, nodding with a tight lipped smile. As if we were meeting up to go for a walk.

Not a fight to the death.

* * *

><p>I go to my room and shower off the makeup, leaving the dress folded on the chair as I change into a t-shirt and some underwear that is lying on my bed, freshly cleaned for me to sleep in.<p>

I lie on the bed for what seems like hours, waiting for sleep but awake being the state I won't shift from. Then there is a knock at the door.

Expecting Gale to be having some last minute worries about tomorrow I go and wrench the door open to see Darius' face softly smiling at me.

It doesn't take long before he is inside the room, the door is locked shut and we are making sure that there is nothing left to regret if I don't come out of the arena alive.

Breathless and more tired than I could remember feeling in quite a while I lay on the comfortable bed wrapped in the strong freckled arms, breathing in the scent that I have grown to know and love so much, tears rolling freely from my eyes in a constant stream that I don't even notice anymore.

I look up into Darius' eyes and then move in to kiss his wonderful, beautiful mouth, before burying my head in his shoulder, feeling his collarbone against my face as his fingers moved through my hair, and trying to make sure that I would never, ever forget this.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N - Guys. Try not to pass out, but I only updated yesterday. And now I'm updating again. **

**WHAT.**

**Okay, so I've just been in a real mood to write more of this at the moment and although this chapter is - considerably - shorter than yesterday's, I don't know how long this writing spree is going to continue so this is exciting right here **

**Anyway, because I only updated literally yesterday I have nothing really to say other than I hope you are well enough over any shock you may be suffering by now to be able to process this chapter well enough :) **

**Disclaimer - The Hunger Games is not mine. **

* * *

><p>At dawn, on the day of the quell I wake after roughly two hours sleep, still curled up on the comfortable bed, but cold; missing the warmth of the arms I had fallen asleep in.<p>

Alone.

I sit up and hug my knees to my chest to warm myself, but as I rest against the wall at the head of the bed I notice a small piece of paper laying on the blood red sheets beside me, in the place of Darius.

It isn't a long note; it's written in a black scrawl.

_You know the last thing I properly said to you was that you'd better get out on stage so you wouldn't disappoint the President._

_Make sure you're still alive to be in that position on the next victory tour. _

_I'll see you soon, I'll be waiting. _

_Darius._

If I hadn't cried so much last night I would definitely be feeling the prickle of tears as they built up. The sincerity of the note is what has unsettled me the most. With Darius being made an avox I just continued to imagine that everything that he meant to say was tainted with his usual sarcasm and wit, but this held neither.

I read the note over and over until I am disturbed by a sharp rapping at my door. Quickly realising that I am still in my pyjamas I glance at the clock. Or the place where the clock was previously, it must have been knocked last night.

I answer the door to a panic stricken Gale who stands with his fists clenched and his jaw rigid, I can hear the sound of rushed footsteps up the hall and the hiss of Yvelle's voice calling him back to her.

"Gale, we have to go in alone." I tell him, not in the mood to cushion my words to ease his nerves.

"Don't die." He says darkly. His tone not matching his terrified expression at all.

Then he leaves with Yvelle, who looks back at me and shrugs. "Klaive will be along in a minute," She informs me, guiding Gale down the corridor with her hands, "I'd put some pants on."

_No point in that. _I think to myself. _He's seen me naked before, a pair of underwear is an improvement. _

When Klaive arrives less than a minute later it is clear that he doesn't expect me to have dressed; from his tone I think he is surprised that he didn't have to wake me.

I follow him to the roof where our hovercraft is the last one to leave. I feel the electric current freeze me on the ladder and watch as the doctor approaches with the tracker injection. I wince as the thick needle penetrates my skin yet again and momentarily entertain myself with thoughts of what my arm would look like if the Capitol was not so advanced in cosmetic surgery. Pretty disgusting I can imagine.

Once inside the hovercraft I find a chair near a window and watch as I leave the training centre again, wondering what the arena might have in store for me this year.

I realise, after about five minutes that I need to stop thinking like this. I need to stop thinking that I am in this on my own; for I am not. I am in this with Katniss, and Peeta, and Gale, and Finnick, and anyone else who wants to join with us. I know at the moment that Peeta and Katniss have decided that they are not joining any alliances this year and I suppose that that will just have to be their decision.

It still remains that I will die for her.

Klaive orders food and water and tells me to eat, and I do eat a small amount, but I find myself full after only a few mouthfuls due to the amount of butterflies in my stomach already taking up most of the room.

I drink a fair amount, because I figure that I can deal better with hunger than I can with thirst.

When we reach the launch room, I shower so that I can stay clean for as long as possible. This also gives Klaive some time to look over the outfit for this year, which is interesting to say the least, as I find out upon my exit from the shower.

"That looks comfortable." I comment sarcastically at the, obviously skin tight, blue jumpsuit that he is holding up on a hanger.

"You'd better start praying that it's not hot." Klaive states, rubbing the material between his forefinger and thumb, "You'll burn right up through this."

"Great." I reply in a flat tone, placing my hand on the drying pad in the wall.

As my hair raises, dries, parts and falls into place which is, as per usual in my case, wherever each unruly curl sees fit to lie, untidy from the roots to the ends at my elbows, Klaive unzips the front of the suit. "I wouldn't hope for cold either," He muses, "this stuff is seriously thin."

"Wonderful."My tone stays equally flat, as Klaive lays down the suit and moves to the back of my head, trying his best to tame my hair in a way that, to quote _"Will be practical enough without turning away possible sponsors through lack of intrigue." _

Whatever he means by that had better be worth it, because I would much rather have no sponsors than have my life ended due to my ridiculous hair.

He seems to settle with pulling two strands from the front and tying them together in a twist over the rest of my hair remaining untouched.

Klaive moves back to study his work, "Well you'll be able to see." He throws at me as if it should be some consolation for whatever I may be dealing with.

"Jump in then." He commands, holding out the suit and helping me to pull it on over the undergarments I am already wearing. Once I am as comfortable as seems possible in the suit, Klaive pulls out a bright purple bit of plastic and holds it up to examine it.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, my tone one that could suggest that Klaive was holding a horribly deformed animal in his hands rather than a garment.

"It's a belt." He replies, reaching around my waist and securing the belt in place. This is followed by a pair of shoes with rubber soles.

"I really can't see this outfit being much help in any circumstance."

"Maybe they're just hoping for a quick game," I muse, "We'll all die from natural causes within two hours."

I mean it to be funny, but as with everything that is supposed to be fun at the moment, it isn't.

We sit for the rest of the time until the intercom announces time for the launch, talking about everything we can, and actually getting to know each other. Far too late.

As I step into the cylinder Klaive walks over to me and places my glasses on my face, straightening them before putting his finger across my lips, "It's been a pleasure." He says, ducking his head in a sort of bow as the glass slides closed and all I can do is nod.

I expect the cylinder to move immediately but it doesn't, and I wonder briefly why, but before I can come to any conclusion I feel the vibrations as I ascend.

As soon as the light hits me my eyes begin to water and I raise my hand to prevent myself dizzying from the intensity; the last thing I want to do here is fall off of my plate and get blown to smithereens before anything happens.

My hearing is the first thing to adjust to my new surroundings, while my vision is still blurry I focus on the sounds around me, so loud after the total silence of the cylinder.  
>A quiet lapping sound, relaxing, very relaxing. Reminiscent of times I would spend in the bathtub in the training centre, or the glorified bucket back in twelve.<p>

I quickly wish that my hearing had been the last thing to come back to me as soon as the voice of Claudius Templesmith creeps through the air and assaults my eardrums. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

The heat is astounding, I can almost feel myself sweating beneath the thin fabric that clothes me, and I know already that I will be burned soon enough.

The clock is ticking, I can hear the seconds passing by as they are played as loud clicks through the sound system.

Finally my sight adjusts to the intrusive levels of light. A pink sky above our heads.

Forty-five seconds.

The sun that teases and tortures my skin tears through the pink in a beam of hot white.

Thirty seconds.

About forty yards from me the Cornucopia glints in the offensive sunlight. It sits atop of some sort of yellow-ish earth.

Fifteen seconds.

My feet are somewhat colder than the rest of my body.

Ten seconds.

Blue water washes over them, not cool yet not as warm as the stifling air above it.

Five seconds.

Everywhere is water. Deep water. Surrounding the island which is home to the Cornucopia; the place that we need to reach to get anything that could possibly help us.

The cannon sounds.

I can't swim.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N - Blimey this is weird. I am back for the third time in less than a week. **

**Anyway, here it is, first chapter in the arena. **

**Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer - Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games, not me.**

* * *

><p>People are moving. Plunging into the water. But I am not.<p>

I can see Finnick standing on the island already, that district four swimming skill proving to be to his advantage. I can't help but feel that this quell is already set to kill people quickly and it seems that the gamemakers are not too bothered about people seeing that they are biased.

After a few seconds I see Katniss climb out on to the island alongside Finnick and they are locked in a stare, both with weapons raised and both poised to attack. I hold my breath, sure that if Finnick even gives the slightest sign that he might be about to drive the trident forward he would be dead before he could blink.

The male from 5 is crawling up the spoke of island nearest to him and moving right up behind Katniss, almost as if he thinks that Finnick is unable to see him, or for some reason won't attack. And for a second I believe it too, until Katniss suddenly lunges out of the way and Finnick's trident is stuck fast in his chest.

This settles me and I now focus on overcoming the fact that I will most certainly drown if I enter the water.

I breathe deeply and kneel down on my plate, dipping my hand in the water and continuing on down until my entire arm is submerged. I can smell the saltiness and put my lips down to the surface to taste. As soon as my mouth touches the water I immediately straighten up and crouch, my heart aching as I watch the violence unfurl between Katniss and Finnick, and Enobaria, Brutus, Cashmere and Gloss, knowing that as long as I stay here I am useless to them. As Brutus dives under the water for a second time Gloss and Enobaria are at the mouth of the cornucopia, picking over whatever lies inside. This is driving me mad. I can't stay here but I can't leave because if I do I will drown.

I can see Gale now; he has jumped off of his plate and is seemingly struggling towards Katniss and Finnick on the island. I look around the rest of the plates and discover that I am not the only person left standing at the beginning. Many of the tributes that are in my sight are either struggling in the water or still standing on their plates. Maybe if I just put my legs in then I'll be able to just get in. No, as soon as my feet are submerged I want to stand again.

I can't stay here; I'm going to lose my alliance.

Gale is now just reaching the island and Katniss is helping him out of the water. She turns to Finnick and he nods then the three of them disappear over the other side of the cornucopia. I can't see them.

I am alone.

But then I see Finnick swimming away from the island on his own, out towards one of the plates on the far side of the cornucopia and realise that there is someone in the water that I haven't noticed beforehand. It is Peeta. And now he is being towed in to shore by Finnick.

Maybe they'll come for me?

I stand in hope, the sun beating on my back, knowing full well that with the reflections from the water my face is going to be so badly burned. Then I realise that they can't risk coming around to me. None of them would survive coming around the front of the cornucopia, not now the four careers have convened in the mouth and now will be loaded with all of the weapons that they need to be strong. It would be nice if someone had picked me up a sword.

It dawns on me that the only way I am going to do this is by swimming around. I need to get over myself and my fears because right now I'm looking weak.

Weak.

That is the only thought I need to push me over the edge and I let myself slide off of the side of the plate. The water feels close, crushing and horrible. The only thing I know that I need to do is at least get to the next plate along, where I think Enobaria may have stood before the gong sounded. I kick my feet wildly and try to pull myself forward with my arms, almost scooping the water behind me as I try to reach that empty podium. Strangely I don't feel the sinking sensation that I believed I would, but nevertheless I am breathing faster than ever before in my life as I try to keep my head above the surface.

The moment I reach Enobaria's plate I throw my arms over the top of it and hold on tightly. I'm still too far around the front of the cornucopia for it to be safe for anyone to help me if they wanted to.

The next thing for me to reach is the spoke closest to the plate I am currently on, but I am certain that if I dare to get too close to the spoke then the careers will be straight over to me, and I am unarmed.

So I now have to swim around the end of the spoke and to the plate on its other side. This could prove slightly more tasking.

I edge around Enobaria's plate and then push myself off and out to move around the spike. I manage to get about halfway there when my leg hits something in the water and panic hits me. It's the same thing as my fear of the dark. Except it's not a fear of the dark, similarly it's not a fear of water. It's a fear of the unknown. Things I can't see send me into crippling panic every time I am confronted with them.

I know, perfect for the Hunger Games.

I begin to flail, and it's not entertaining as I have always imagined it to be, it is terrifying. Somehow I am still not sinking, which I cannot understand but it doesn't stop me from somehow submerging my head in the water. There is water in my mouth and I am breathing it in and I can't see and I am regretting my decision to leave my plate.

Some tribute I turned out to be.

And then something is pulling me along and my head is above the water but I don't open my eyes until I can feel hard ground beneath me. At that point I open them and see Finnick standing above me, a smug grin on his face.

I hold out my hand and he grabs me and pulls me up and ruffles my hair, seemingly trying to get sand out of it.

Mags walks up to us as Katniss is handing some weapons to Peeta and Gale and she is babbling and pointing at me and then pointing to her belt and then back at me.

"Look she's right. Someone figured it out." Finnick says, pointing across the water to Beetee who is flailing as I was, but he was a bit more successful at keeping his head above water.

"What's that?" I ask, still coughing.

"The belts. They're flotation devices." Finnick replies, holding out a sword with a sheath that secures over one of my shoulders and around my waist, and three throwing knives that I can slip into the waist strap.

"We should go." Gale suggests, holding in his hand an axe and wearing his band on his arm as Katniss is wearing her pin and I am wearing my bracelet. Finnick is also wearing a gold band and immediately I know that Haymitch had planned for Finnick to be allied with us since the beginning.

Everyone agrees and Finnick hoists Mags onto his shoulder and we all begin to run away from the cornucopia.

Obviously the beach setting wasn't enough for the Gamemakers as once we move away from the sand there are trees everywhere. A jungle under a pink sky sounds practically poetic but right now it is anything but.

I volunteer to go ahead of the pack as I have the sword, and this essentially means that my role is to cut down all of the vegetation and vines in our way. The air is close and moist and it makes it feel almost as though every breath is a mad search for the oxygen in the air I am breathing. Because of the thin material of the suit I am almost completely dried of seawater, but because I am constantly chopping away at vines and branches I am already dripping in sweat, and my face is red raw.

Peeta follows behind me and helps to further clear the way for Finnick who is behind him with Mags while Katniss and Gale cover the rear in case anyone has been stupid enough to follow the six of us into the foliage.

The slope in the jungle is steep, steeper than I would like and sooner than is probably acceptable I am out of breath and I can hear the others all panting. However still we keep moving until we have covered at least one mile until Finnick finally gives in and asks that we stop for a rest, and nobody can blame him as he has carried Mags the whole way and still stands with more breath than the rest of us.

Katniss scales a tree far quicker than I could ever have imagined anybody to have managed, claiming to be getting bearings on the arena. Peeta and Gale both sit and slump against trees closing their eyes.

Finnick lays Mags gently on the ground and flexes his arms around to stretch them out, then comes over to me. "She's going to kill me." He whispers, jabbing his trident up towards where Katniss is up the tree, "Or she's going to try."

I shake my head with a smile on my face and slump down against a tree, turning my head upside down and attempting to shake the rest of the sand out of my hair, then re-tying my hair as Klaive had before I entered the arena and watching as Katniss lands from the tree and Finnick stands deliberately holding his trident in her view.

"What's going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?" He asks in a mocking tone.

Katniss' answer doesn't even need to be audible for me to know what she is saying, "No."

"No." Finnick repeats after her, almost like an adult scolding a small child, patronising her, "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance." His eyes linger on Peeta "Except maybe Peeta." Then he looks over at Gale, "You can't trust Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome any further than Bet can swim and Bet's more dangerous than the lot of us combined when you take into account the fact that none of us actually know her."

I open my mouth to reply but I am almost too confused at what Finnick has just said to form words. So I just watch as the two of them stand face to face, both working each other out as what Finnick muttered to me earlier becomes clearer: she was going to kill him.  
>Peeta however, has different ideas. He stands quickly and steps between the two, very deliberately.<p>

"Pack it in you lot." Gale interrupts, standing up and taking a hold of his axe again. "We need water, we can't drink that salty stuff." He takes a few steps forward in the direction we had previously been travelling, and this seems to be enough to convince the others to cast aside their differences for the time being. Maybe the thing about water was what made Katniss move, after all, I remember watching her stumble around hopelessly dehydrated when we were at the highlights ceremony.

"We need to be undercover when the others come hunting for us tonight." Finnick says as he crouches for Mags to grab hold of his shoulders.

"Hey Finnick, take a rest, I'll carry Mags." Gale quickly calls back, striding back over to the group.

Finnick is reluctant, insisting that he is ok and that he is perfectly capable of carrying Mags himself, but as he protests, Mags nods her head at Gale and babbles something containing the word "Rest," at Finnick. Obviously Mags' approval of Gale is word enough to convince Finnick to agree.

This time Katniss accompanies Peeta at the front of the group using Gale's axe to assist him in cutting down the branches, as Finnick had refused to let Gale keep the weapon whilst in charge of Mags. Finnick and I bring up the rear.

As we climb I find that I am particularly jumpy every time I hear a crack of twigs behind us or the call of a bird in a tree. Finnick chuckles to himself quietly everytime I turn around with my sword clutched readily in both hands to find that nothing is following us.

As we are as alone as I can see us getting in the arena I decide that now would be the best time to ask him about his comments from earlier. "Why don't you know me?" I ask. Clouding my question would be pointless, so I just go straight for the point.

Finnick re-settles the net over his shoulder and breathes deeply, "You're a mystery to everyone Bet. It's not really through anything to do with your personality per say, more the fact that you've been a machine in arenas yet you're the friendliest person to man outside."

I frown, fondling with the leather bound handle of the sword. "It's not exactly a good thing to be emotional when you're killing children."

Finnick doesn't laugh, "What I'm trying to get at is that you're dangerous. You mightn't think so yourself, but you're dangerous. You've had no normal human connections for the last seven years of your life and the times where you're set out on your own are when you're supposed to be killing people."

My grip tightens on the sword handle as Finnick speaks. "It's not like I've wanted that." I tell him as calmly as I possibly can.

"I-"

"The only reason I'm friendly is because they send me out to all of these, what was it, _'social events at some of the Capitol's most exclusive venues'_" I interrupt him with my best impression of Caesar Flickerman, "and it's not like it's possible to just sit in some corner and be ignored at those things. You should know that." My tone darkens towards the end of the sentence, as I hint at the truth that Finnick should never have to be told about himself.

He turns his head towards me so quickly I jump, stab the sword into the ground and kick my foot into the blade as I step forward. Swearing loudly and kicking the spongy earth beneath my feet I tug the blade from the earth and refuse to look down in case my foot is cut.

For a few minutes we all walk in silence, I am lagging only by about five metres due to the pain every time I put down my foot, but I know I can't stop because it was my fault.

Finnick stops and turns around, "Are you-" he begins to ask but I cut him off.

"You _do _know me Finnick." I walk until I come level with him again. "Better than I know myself." I admit, and no more is said.

The second we both begin to walk again there is a loud zapping sound and a cry from Katniss. Immediately we both run to the top of the hill and arrive at the same time as Gale who is struggling a little more than Finnick had been under the extra weight of Mags.  
>Katniss is crouched over Peeta who is lying on the ground in a patch of vines, and there is a distinct smell of burning as we approach.<p>

Katniss is slapping him around the face, listening to his heartbeat, screaming his name, shaking him. It is quite distressing to watch. Finnick thrusts his trident into my hand and throws the netting off of his shoulders, moving over to Peeta and shoving Katniss away from him. He crouches down next to Peeta and pinches his nose closed. At this Katniss sprints at him, but is thrown back by one strong hit from Finnick. As she sits up from hitting the tree trunk, she immediately loads her bow and pulls back, ready to send the arrow straight through Finnick's head, when quickly, he leans down and puts his mouth to Peeta's.

She stops, obviously confused, and then realises that Finnick is trying to save Peeta's life.

For what seems like an hour but in reality is only about a minute, Finnick blows into Peeta's mouth and hammers on his chest and it is getting to the point where none of us believe that he is still in with a chance. None of us except Finnick it seems, who continues his routine until there is a cough, small, weak but definitely a cough. And a cough from Peeta.

Finnick sits back, panting and moves aside as Katniss goes barrelling towards Peeta. Gale watches with narrowed eyes as he sits beside Mags who is happily chewing on the awl she has been given as though she is trying to pretend that it could somehow suffice for food.

After a few minutes of Katniss crying and sobbing and more crying, Peeta makes the call that we need to keep moving, slowly maybe but we need water.

Katniss offers to go in front of the group and Peeta immediately protests, being cut short when Finnick points out that Katniss was the one who knew the force field was there in the first place so she could prevent us from any more near death experiences.

Katniss agrees and claims that she can hear the buzzing of the force field through her reconstructed ear and I can't help being slightly jealous of her. How come the surgeons had done such a perfect, beyond perfect job on her ear, but had managed to ruin my eyes? I take off my glasses for a minute to wipe them clean from some of the salt that has crystallised on the lenses as they dried out from the earlier swim. I don't have much in the way of material so I make do with stretching the sleeve of my jumpsuit over my hand.

It is settled that Finnick will walk in the middle of the pack with Mags and Peeta, who both walk now with the aid of canes that he quickly makes for them out of tree branches, Gale is accompanying Katniss at the front and I am once again bringing up the rear.

I do not mind this however, as I am able to use my sword as an aid to help me hobble along with my injured foot without any of the others seeing. Whenever any of them do turn around, I act as if nothing is wrong at all.

Katniss is throwing nuts at the force field as she doesn't want to rely solely on her ear to keep us from electrocuting ourselves again and as they bounce back I can see Mags bending and scooping them up, peeling them and throwing them in to her mouth.

I am growing very fond of Mags already, I remember how she volunteered for Annie at the reaping and how she is here now, knowing that in any physical fight she has next to no chance. She has an air of defiance in the way that she just does as she pleases, babbling away to herself all of the time and readily eating these nuts that she has no idea whether they are poisonous or not.

Katniss seems to realise this small fact as soon as I think it as she turns around and shouts "Mags, spit that out! It could be poisonous."

Mags doesn't do anything but lick her lips and grin and I can't help but laugh to myself as Katniss shrugs and turns back around.

We walk in silence for at least another hour and by now the pain in my foot is so much that I can't properly feel it anymore. I know it is there, but it has become almost like background noise.

Katniss finally gives up and suggests that we stop for another break. We all collapse pretty much immediately and she looks upwards to find another tree to climb. Whilst she is scaling the tallest tree in the immediate area I finally look down to my right foot and wish that I had looked before.

There is a slice between my second and third toes which has cut through the thin nylon of the shoe and a good two centimetres of the skin between the toes. Because of the muddy, damp earth underfoot the cut is filled with dirt which has stemmed the blood flow, but will almost definitely cause an infection. Excellent.  
>I try to clear as much of the dirt as I and cut off a section of my sleeve with one of the throwing knives to wrap around my toes so I can prevent too much more dirt from getting to the cut the next time we begin walking.<p>

Katniss lands from the tree and lets us all know what she has discovered, "The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large."

"Any water?" Gale asks, his voice dry.

"Only the saltwater where we started."

"There must be some other source," Peeta says, frustrated, "Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days."

"Well these games aren't the most popular," I say, "not sure whether you've noticed. Maybe having them over quickly is the plan."

Many of the group members shoot me looks as I openly insult the gamemakers, as if it could really do much to harm us now. They've already decided our fate.

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><p><strong>AN - As always, reviews are much appreciated so if you read the chapter and liked it, or hated it, or had a cuppa whilst reading it. Tell me!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N - It's been a while eh? Sorry, I had those things that everyone hates, exams. So, just the usuals: thanks to zirkon, fanpire.x and swim4ever1429 for favouriting/following and all that jazz :) **

**Enjoy**

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><p>Contrary to my defeatist attitude to our water situation, Peeta suggests that we keep searching through the jungle in case there was any source that Katniss couldn't see through the foliage.<p>

We move slowly due to Peeta's recent resurrection and Mags being almost unable to walk, and we travel no further than a few hundred yards closer to the beach for fear of running into any remaining victors.

I walk at the back of the group once again, with Finnick beside me and Gale at the front with Katniss, looking out for Peeta and Mags while Katniss keeps track of the force field. The sun, combined with the lack of water plays with us and has tired me so, that I have resorted to carrying the sword in the sheath at my back and instead holding one of the throwing knives in my hand.

Nobody talks.

I cannot tell exactly how long we search for before we finally give in, but when we do, Mags and Peeta collapse to the ground simultaneously.

Soon enough we have a system going so that we can make a suitable place to hide us from a little of what the arena may throw at us.

Finnick and Mags weave mats from grass that grows to my chin, Peeta and Gale begin to gather and fry more of the nuts that Mags has been eating, using the force field rather than making a fire. I take the job of clearing a space big enough for the six of us to rest in. This basically involves pulling several spiked plants from the ground and making sure we're camouflaged well enough.

Katniss, who is keeping watch, seems fidgety. Understandably so, as the heat has still not dimmed at all and keeping alert now is something that none of us are in the right mindset to be doing. After a while she breaks, "Bet, if you take guard here I'll go around and hunt around some more for water."

Things seem to double up as I slowly turn my head to look at her, and this makes me rethink the protest I was about to put up. Instead I nod, stand and unsheathe the sword, leaning on it slightly so as to take the weight off of my injured foot without it being too noticeable.

"I'll go, too." Peeta abandons the nut he is peeling and moves to stand up.

Quickly, Katniss dismisses him by saying that, as well as water, she was going to take the opportunity to hunt for food also.

"Need a hand with that?" Gale quickly interjects, now taking his turn to abandon his pile of nuts.

"No Gale." Katniss' voice is harsher than when she spoke to Peeta, "Stay here with Bet, I'm capable." And she leaves, her bow already loaded.

I frown, first to myself and then at Gale, who hasn't returned to his nuts but instead is frowning at me. To my knowledge, Katniss and Gale remained as good friends as ever, so I quickly put her tone down to exhaustion, thirst and the games.

Within a half hour of Katniss' leave, Finnick and Mags have finished the mats that they have been weaving and Finnick and I have assembled them into a form of hut, three walls, a floor and roof aren't much, but I would take them over the squashy jungle floor any day.

The nuts that Peeta and Gale have been working with seem to grow in an almost endless supply here, and before much time has passed there are several bowls, weaved by Mags, filled to the brim with the browned nuts.

Just as the other four collapse in the mouth of the hut and I find a tree, cut off at about six feet off of the ground to perch on so that I can still keep a watch, the cannon sounds.

The bloodbath must have ended, and now we are to wait for the body count.

The tree vibrates with each shot, yet the arena seems more silent than it has been since we entered. Eight shudders. Eight victors.

Finnick shakes his head as he scratches some dried blood from the end of his trident, evidently the man from five would be appearing later on the hologram.

"Who-" Gale's voice is quieter than I think he expects it to be.

"No, don't do that." I cut across his question. I don't want to speculate about which victors have already died, because odds are they are all of the ones who deserved it the least.

My foot throbs, and I do my best to ignore it. It is definitely infected and were it not for the Capitol's great surgeons, I would definitely be heading down the same road as Peeta if I survived the games for more than a few days.

"Katniss should be back soon." Peeta muses, digging a trench in the earth with a stick.

"She'll be fine." Gale assures him, stretching his legs out and lying back into the hut.

"How do you know that one of those cannons wasn't hers?" The panic in Peeta's voice rose as the sentence progressed and caused both Gale and Finnick to stiffen noticeably.

"She'll be fine." I repeat, although the certainty in my voice was nonexistent.

Another half hour on, I start as I hear a twig break, but just as I am raising the sword ready, Katniss appears through the leaves, looking impressed at our work and holding a deformed looking squirrel in her hand.

As we all give her hopeful looks she merely shakes her head, "No, no water."

I lower the sword and Katniss joins us at the mouth of the hut, explaining that there must be water somewhere, because the squirrel thing, which wasn't actually a squirrel, had been drinking just before she had shot it.

I hold my hand out and Katniss throws the rodent to me, joining the group of us sitting on the floor as Mags lays a large leaf down for me to place the skinned animal on to.

"Can we eat him?" Peeta asks as we sit, staring at the carcass.

I cut a chunk off and hand it to him as Katniss advises that we cook it, not hopeful that we would be able to. Building a fire here is far too risky with the size of the arena.

Peeta however, merely throws the meat into the force field on the end of a stick. When it returns, it is cooked well enough.

Content with the suitability of the meat, we fry the rest and begin to eat our meal of tree rat and nuts, tree rat being the name given to the animal. Admittedly, water is still at the front of my mind, especially after eating the nuts, whose sweetness leaves me even thirstier than beforehand, but for the hunger games, this is a pretty good meal.

I don't offer much to the conversation as night begins to fall, merely listen contently to the speculations about the tree rat and the whereabouts of the water that he had been drinking from. Once the food is done with, I help Mags to clear the bowls aside for us to group together, as now all there is to do is wait for the report of dead victors.

I sit beside Gale, with Finnick to my left with Mags beside him, and Katniss and Peeta to Gale's right.

The capitol seal appears just as ceremoniously as usual, projected against the darkened sky, accompanied by the anthem, and we wait patiently for the first face to appear.

The man from 5 is first, I notice Finnick's grip tighten on his trident but his face remains stony. The worse news is that all four Careers are still in the game, along with Beetee and Wiress who I am glad have survived thus far. The man from 6 is next, followed by Cecelia and Woof both district 8, my stomach seems to dig a chasm through the earth beneath me when I remember the three children that Cecelia had with her at the reaping ceremony. Next comes both from 9, the woman from 10 and from 11, Seeder.

I feel sick, and it has a lot more to do with the recent display than anything I've eaten this evening.

I feel Gale move his arm behind me as he leans back slightly and I can't help but see it as a slight comfort that, even for these few minutes, I'm not completely alone in the group.

A quiet bleeping noise rouses us from our thoughts after an uncounted amount of time and a white parachute falls with a dull thud onto the earth before us.

If anyone watching on a screen at home had looked away for the moment of the parachute's entrance, they would not gage, from our reactions, that anything had happened at all.

All six of us sit for at least a minute, maybe more, staring at the white lump on the ground.

"Whose is it, do you think?" Katniss, her voice rather hoarse, finally breaks our trance like state.

Finnick shifts his position, "No telling, why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?"

Nobody objects. Personally I don't want to move from my spot, and so am more than happy to let Peeta claim the mystery parachute.

The anticlimax once the material is opened and the gift is revealed to us is rather impressive.

"Well that looks useful." I say, my voice laced with sarcasm.

A sharp dig in the ribs from Finnick shuts me up however, being ungrateful when someone out there actually wants to sponsor us probably isn't the best way to go about staying alive.

Speculations go around the group of us as we pass the small, metal tube to each other. We try everything we can think of yet come up with no seemingly useful application of the object. Not as a whistle, not as a weapon, not to catch food and not to provide anything immediately helpful to the group of us.

It had to be used for something, Haymitch obviously had a hand in deciding to send this to us, and that being the case it would definitely be useful.

After what seems like hours of deliberating over the possible use of the, so far, useless item we give up and all seem to retreat to our own thoughts for a while.

Katniss crawls up her mat and lays there, face rested on her arms while Peeta rubs her back soothingly. Mags pulls a large leaf from a plant beside her and lays it on her lap, like a blanket. Finnick stays where he is, his knees bent slightly, and his elbows rested on them with his hands in the space between his legs, twiddling his thumbs restlessly.

I roll my shoulders and try to pull the sleeve of my jumpsuit down further over my arm. I am shivering, and it isn't because of the weather, which is still stifling. Gale seems to notice and holds out an arm, inviting me to sit underneath it. I do, and I feel better for it.

As I lean against Gale my mind wanders, and I begin to think about things outside of the arena. My life won't be the same after this game. If I survive, and the plan goes accordingly, I will finally be released from the Capitol's watch. If I don't survive, then I'll be dead. So either way, I'm not going back to my old life.

Surely there will be punishments for the Districts if the breakout plan is successful. I wonder what will happen to my mother, if indeed she is still alive by then. I wonder what will become of Gale's mother and brother's and little Posy. I wonder if I'll ever see Darius again, and it seems almost selfish that this, above all of my other worries, is the one that makes me feel sick. They've already taken his tongue, and I never found out why. I never found out so many things about him. I never found out how he became a peacekeeper. I never spoke to him about his family. I never once greeted him happy birthday. And I never told him just how much he meant to me. Subconsciously, I bring my hand to my mouth and touch my lips. Brushing my fingertips over them lightly, almost as if I might remember what he felt like, tasted like.

I scratch my chin and draw a little blood in shock as Katniss cries something and sits straight up.

"What?" Finnick asks, breathlessly.

Katniss grabs the thing from the ground, "It's a spile."

We listen intently to what she has to say, explaining the use of the previously useless object to us, with the help of Peeta.

As soon as we make the connection between the sap that is usually collected with the use of the spile, and the content of the trees around us, all of us jump to our feet within a second.

Eager to find out whether our theory is true, I grab the spile and hold it to the tree while Finnick picks up a rock to hammer it into the tree with.

Katniss grabs his arm just as he goes to hit the tube, "Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first."

Quickly, Mags swaps the spile for her awl and I place it in Peeta's outstretched hand.

Before long, Finnick, Peeta and Gale have opened up a big enough hole in the tree trunk for the silver object to be wedged into.

It is a long process. To begin with, only a drop of water rolls to the lip of the tube and Mags claims it, lapping it up and asking immediately for more. Then the process of wiggling and shoving the spile around in the tree trunk begins, until, after much adjusting, we have a steady stream of water coming from the thin silver tube.

I wait right until everyone has finished fully with the water before taking the bowl we have filled and using the remains to gently clean the wound on my foot. It hurts like hell, but I might be lucky and miss infection. After wrapping the toes back up with a cleaned bit of sleeve material, I pour the reddened water away at the bottom of the tree we took it from.

When I turn to come back to the group I almost laugh at the sight. In the space of time it has taken me to pour the bowl's contents out, the other five have all begun to prepare themselves to sleep. Finnick offers to watch, taking a seat against the tree trunk I had perched atop earlier.

I go to the hut and grab one of the throwing knives from the strap. I'll sleep with it in my grasp, just in case. The space between Mags and Gale is big enough to fit both me and Finnick in, and as only I am laying there it is positively luxurious. For a grass mat.

I sleep well strangely, usually I am restless when sleeping in arenas. This however, only makes it worse when I am roused by a loud bell tolling through the trees. I cast a look around, only Katniss has awoken, and I can just make out Finnick's silhouette across the ground.

"What the hell?" I ask, my voice groggy, slow, and trailing off towards the end.

"Always have loved your morning voice." Finnick jibes in a low mumble, so as not to disturb the others.

"Time and a place." I mutter back at him.

"I counted twelve." Finnick comments, his switch between playful and serious is so sudden it takes me a while to register that he is talking about the bell tolls.

"Mean anything do you think?" Katniss asks, sounding just as confused as the rest of us.

"No idea."

We wait a while, a message, instructions, anything. But nothing. All that happens is the beginning of a thunderstorm.

Katniss steps out of the hut and tells Finnick to go to sleep. I move over towards Gale so that he can take his spot next to Mags. He sleeps clutching his trident.

Again, once I drift off to sleep, I sleep well. I wake to a shouting, and soon after, searing pain all over my skin. My immediate thought is that I'm dying, I've been attacked in my sleep and it is all over, until I am roughly grabbed and pulled to my feet. I blink and Gale's face is right in front of my eyes, and his cheeks are blistering.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- What is this? Another chapter? In less than a month? Don't shout too loudly, everyone will want one.**

**Enjoy **

**Disclaimer- The Hunger Games is not mine, nor is Catching Fire. Or Mockingjay, but we haven't got there yet.**

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><p>"What's ha-"<p>

"Shut up and _run_!" Gale yells at me, grabbing my arm and tugging me after him as he leaves the hut, making me eternally thankful that I left the sword strap on last night as all I need to do is stab the throwing knife back into the strap and I'm good.

Finnick is nowhere to be seen and Mags is gone too, I can only assume they're together. I can see Katniss and Peeta moving swiftly through the trees too.

I look behind at some point to see what we're running from, and see a wall of fog, gaining on us with every step. My skin feels like it is being punctured with hundreds of tiny needles, and as I grab Gale's hand, I can feel that the skin is blistering.

We sprint, both of us good on the tricky terrain being used to it from hunting, and previous arena chases and soon we have caught up with Finnick who is carrying Mags. I notice, as the four of us move, that my shoulder is completely out of my control. Staring at my left arm it becomes apparent that it too is affected. The fog must be targeting out nerves. As my arm twitches uselessly by my side I feel Gale drop.

"Gale!" I shriek, my voice much higher pitched than usual. I wrench him up and we continue to move. It seems that his left leg has become as useless as my left arm.

Within the next few steps, Gale is practically laying across my shoulders, having lost the use of almost his whole left side. He is bloody heavy, but I can't help but feel slightly responsible for it, I was the reason for us leaving later than the others.

Finnick is now carrying Peeta, having taken him from Katniss and swapped him for Mags, who Katniss seems to be struggling under the weight of.

The uselessness of my left arm has now spread to my right and the only way Gale is still on me is because one of his arms is threaded under the knife strap across my chest and his right arm that he still has a little control over.

Soon, the task of carrying Mags gets the better of Katniss, who has also lost control of her leg.

"It's no use." She calls as I approach her, she stands beside Finnick and Peeta. "Can one of you take them both? Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Finnick and I stand, probably looking rather hilarious to any of the spectators safe at home, both of us with our arms twitching wildly at our sides. Gale groans slightly and when I look at his face I see it has swollen all around his right eye, the blisters red raw. I look to the ground, then straight to Finnick, knowing that neither of us could possibly hold Mags.

"No," His voice thick, "neither of us has working arms." He turns to Mags, "I'm sorry, Mags. I can't do it." His voice breaks.

Mags, quicker than I thought she could have ever moved, heaves herself from the ground and kisses Finnick, right on the lips. Then hobbles right into the fog. If my throat didn't feel as though it is closing I may have been sick at the sight of her frail body contorting as she falls. It feels perverse.

Tears rolling down my cheek burn as they run over the blisters there and I continue to tramp heavily over the vines, Finnick quick after me and Katniss following.

Gale being slung messily around my shoulders has actually shielded me from a small bit of the fog, and I can tell this as now, almost his entire body is shaking. I keep moving as fast as I can, breathing hard, pushing the terrible thought that my lungs might be affected away as I concentrate on not tripping over. After another ten or so minutes however my knees are so weak that at the exact second I get my foot caught under a small vine I collapse, Gale crushing me as my face is shoved into the ground.

I lie there, Gale on top of me, twitching, and then I feel another weight added to our pile. The cough I hear is male, Finnick and Peeta have fallen too. Soon enough Katniss must trip, as another weight joins the heap.

What a pathetic way to die.

Which is surely our fate. We are to die, here, all piled on one another, twitching wildly and covered in blisters.

I can't see the fog approaching, I fell with my back to it.

Katniss croaks something, and then afterwards says "It's stopped." Weight is lifted from my back until I think Gale is the only one remaining. Then he is wrenched up and I haul myself onto my back, attempting to spit out the dirt in my mouth and achieving an unimpressive dribble.

I look back to the fog and see that, indeed, it has stopped. It's disappearing rapidly too, being sucked into the sky as quickly as it had apparently appeared.

In the trees sit two monkeys. Peeta mentions them in a slurred voice, which is probably better than any noise I could put together at this moment in time. It seems Peeta is keen to move however, although the immediate threat is over, and he slowly pushes himself onto his hands and knees, crawling and stumbling down the slope. Katniss follows suit and so do I, until I remember Gale and Finnick, and stop to assist Finnick in pushing Gale down the vine covered slope, mentally apologising everytime he moaned in pain.

Soon enough we reach the sands of the beach around the Cornucopia. Patches of red are visible further around the rounded beach and I try not to look at them. Katniss reaches the water and lets it lap at her face, then recoils as if it is made out of the same stuff as we have just escaped from.

As we crawl, my brain seems to cloud, almost as if the fog has penetrated it. I slip in and out of awareness of my position, and it seems that Finnick is also having the same trouble. I notice that I am still dribbling and am vaguely disgusted at myself. The thought that the danger may not be over floats across my mind, but doesn't seem to bother me as much as my undignified dribble. Then I faceplant into the sand.

The first thing I am clearly aware of is a searing pain on my stomach, and I snap my eyes open, meeting Peeta's face looking down at my horrifically blistered body. My jumpsuit is laying on the ground beside me in pieces and I lie in my underclothes, the grey top pulled up showing a patch of my stomach that must have been under just the protection of the ruined jumpsuit, as compared to the rest of my stomach which is it's normal colour, the exposed patch, which runs from where the band of the pants had been pulled back, up for about four inches, is red raw and just generally disgusting.

Peeta is pouring water onto my stomach slowly from a seashell and I watch as fog seeps out of the wound.

"That's pleasant" I try to say, but it seems I am still dribbling and all that comes out is a moan which turns into more of a growl as more of the water hits my skin, causing blinding pain.

It is a monumental effort, but when Peeta leaves to get more water, I prop myself up onto my elbows.

Katniss is currently attending to Finnick's arms, which are really badly affected. Gale is still twitching, marks in the sand showing that he had obviously been dragged away from Finnick and I once the two of us had collapsed.

Both of them are still unaware of what is going on, and seemingly unconscious.

I move, stupidly slowly, on account of my still slightly twitching arms, down to the water's edge. I don't even give a second thought to the fact that I can't swim. All I can concentrate on at the moment is the burning need I have to stop dribbling. Anyway, the water is no more than a few feet deep here.

As I touch the water the pain is so bad that I feel the same sickening feeling as I had felt when Mags had been taken by the fog.

*_Slowly_* I tell myself, and, laying on my front I slowly bathe my hand, watching the poison leave my skin in a rather hypnotising manner. Soon I have submerged my entire arm and it has stopped twitching. I decide that rather than starting on the other arm I will just edge my way into the water with my feet first.

It takes time, but less of it than I had originally thought. By the time I am up to my knees, Katniss and Peeta have dragged both Finnick and Gale to the water's edge too and are putting them through the same process.

I get to the point where the only thing left for me to detoxify is my head and throat. By now, I am aware that it is going to feel like hell, so I go straight ahead and dip my face right in. Bad mistake. Looking on the bright side however, I inhale a considerable amount of water which, once the white fog has protruded from my nostrils, makes me feel like a whole new person. I hadn't even noticed how much my airways had been affected.

I become aware of a small chuckling coming from Peeta as he turns and walks up the beach. I roll my eyes and submerge my face again, for longer this time, I swallow some of the water this time, just in case. When I resurface I notice that Finnick has begun to attend to his face and throat.

Katniss moves to Gale and lets trickles of water roll over his face from her hands. Gale got the worst of the fog, and I feel very responsible for that.

I grab my belt, which I had dragged with me to the water and secure it over my grey undershirt. Strangely, the belt, the thin grey undershirt and black pants which are seemingly nothing more than tight sports clothes, the pants cutting off at the knee and the shirt nothing more than a camisole, seem to be resistant to whatever the fog consisted of, as they, and the skin that they had covered, are unscathed.

Finnick has begun to swim now, moving around in the shallows as though they are his home. I am shaking, no longer from the fog, but from terror of the water that has healed me.

Finnick swallows some more water, clears his throat, "Come on." He swims to me, wearing the exact same undergarments as I, Katniss, Peeta and Gale are, only the male variation consists of an equally tight grey sports t-shirt rather than a camisole, which I can't help thinking is a bit of a cheap way to get viewers, I feel rather too exposed to be facing battles to the death.

Finnick grabs my arm and pulls me out into the shallows, holding me with one hand under my waist and laughing as I panic. "You're not going to die if you let go you know."

My grip is vice-like on his free wrist and he uses his other hand to prise it away. I float for a while, half expecting him to let go and push me under the water at any moment. Then I realise that both of his hands are busy as he ruffles his hair. I am on my own and I am not drowning. Or flailing. I'm only movement away from swimming.

I roll onto my stomach and soon enough I am swimming. Inelegantly, yes, but when has elegant ever been a way to describe me? I'm a long shot from being anywhere near as good as Finnick, or even Katniss who has now joined the pair of us with Gale who seems much better now, but I'm swimming.

I leave the water, and pick up the leather strap that, miraculously, still contains my sword and all three throwing knives. I attach it around myself, having to tighten it further now that the protection of the jumpsuit was no longer. Looking at the foot that I had injured I notice that the saltwater was only a remedy for the damage done by the fog. I pick up the nearest jumpsuit using the tip of the sword and take it down to the water, dipping it in to get rid of any remaining fog traces before cutting a new strip to bandage my toes with.

The others return to the beach with me this time, Katniss explaining that we should go and find Peeta, who is tapping a tree.

We arm ourselves, leaving nothing but our useless jumpsuits behind, and make our way up the beach.

Katniss notices them first, notifies Gale who notifies Finnick, who elbows me gently and rolls his eyes upwards slightly.

As I look up, only momentarily, I notice tens, hundreds of the monkeys that we saw earlier, littering the trees surrounding Peeta.

I decide that the best thing to do is nothing. Katniss calls to Peeta.

He comes over, not aware of our companions just yet. As he nears us, it is clear he is searching for an answer and when he finds it, all hell breaks loose.

I unsheathe my sword faster than I have ever done so before and the others do the same with their own weapons, pelting towards the greenery to save Peeta from the scores of monkeys about to pile on him.

I slay the orange beasts at an alarming rate. They are fast, much faster than they seemingly should be and the thought is just crossing my mind when Katniss yells "Mutts!"

Dead monkeys surround me, yet more keep appearing, almost in a never ending stream. Gale is behind me and I can hear him swinging the axe into targets, the thuds a little sickening, Katniss is picking the higher monkeys from the trees, and Finnick is beside me, spearing the beasts as though he is fishing. I cut down a monkey that is stealthily approaching his back, almost enjoying myself.

I hear a scream after a while and I go to turn, but a monkey flies at me and I catch it on the end of my sword, almost like spearing a sausage. I pull out one of the throwing knives as the monkey is heavy and I can't seem to get the sword out of its body, holding the small blade ready to attack more, but the monkeys are retreating. No more of them come to attack.

I turn around, assuming that the shriek had something to do with the cause of the retreat. Peeta is seething with rage, repeatedly stabbing one single monkey until he hauls it off of a small body, shouting at the mutts to come back. I can hear Finnick breathing deeply behind me and Gale kicks one of the bodies beside him and marches down to the beach without talking. Peeta follows, carrying the frail body of the morphling, she is still alive I think, Katniss follows them. I don't, neither does Finnick. Both of us would much rather stay and watch the trees than watch over as the girl dies.

I stand on the orange fur of the monkey and wrench my sword from its body while Finnick stares into the trees silently. I walk over to him and stand right next to him, our shoulders would be touching if I was an inch taller.

"It's okay to miss her." I say, not looking at Finnick's face for fear he would be crying, "She was brave."

Finnick nods and sniffs slightly, "I know." He says. I think he means to sound dismissive, but his voice is far too hoarse to pull it off.

We stand like this for a short while, until a soft slithering sound begins and we both immediately raise our weapons, moving into defensive stances. But all that happens is that the vines that the monkeys had slid down, shift to the sides, almost like curtains drawing.

Finnick shrugs, and leans down to the nearest monkey body, pulling from it one of Katniss' arrows. Soon, between us, we have gathered all of the remaining arrows, and then the cannon sounds and we decide that we can rejoin the others.

"Thought you might want these." Finnick says, holding out the arrows he has in his hand. Katniss takes them and goes to wash them in the water.

"What happened to your face?" I ask Peeta, referring to a huge smear of blood he has across his cheek.

"The morphling painted a picture I think," he replies, a small smile on his lips. "You might want to wash your own face though." He continues, in a more serious tone.

I had completely forgotten, halfway through the monkey fight one had propelled itself at my head and managed to rake one of its talon like claws right across my cheek and chin.

"You might want to check on him while you're away." Finnick suggests, waving a hand towards Gale, who is sitting along the beach, hunched over his knees.

I nod, and make off towards Gale, leaving Peeta and Finnick together.

"Hey, Gale, help me wash this will you." I ask, approaching him and prodding him lightly on the back with my toe.

He looks up, a scowl etched over his face. Without speaking he stands, grabs the axe and plods down to the water's edge as I follow.

As he gently pours the salty water over the long gash in my face, I take the opportunity, between winces, to ask "What's up?"

He pulls something from the wound, orange monkey hairs, lovely. "Nothing."

"You could be dead in ten minutes Gale, please don't lie to me."

He pauses and drops his hand to his side. "Those monkeys, the morphling girl, she had no chance." Gale's face betrays him. I think he means to sound matter of fact, but he doesn't. "And Mags, she just ran straight into that fog. If I hadn't been-"

"No Gale, it's not your-"

"But if I hadn't-"

"But you were, and that wasn't your fault." I sigh, "Mags _chose_ to run into the fog Gale, you had nothing to do with that." Gale's moves his hand back up to my face and pulls another monkey hair away.

He pours another handful of water over the gash and seems satisfied that it is clean. "It's just sick." He mutters as he sits still in the water for a moment.

I can only nod. Because it is.


End file.
